If You're Out There(51)

I spot Arturo’s floating head against a wall of dingy black curtains. I push through the crowd until I reach him and he yanks me by the arm in through the opening.

“Thank God you’re here!” he whisper-yells. “I’m freaking out!” I’ve never been behind a stage like this before. Some performers are chatting and finishing up beers while others stand with their backs to the wall, humming and talking to themselves.

“Hey,” I say with as much authority as I can muster. “The people in that audience are going to love you. I’m sure you’re exactly what these fancy agents and producer types are looking for.”

“It’s not that,” says Arturo. “Sam finally listened to me and brought her mom to a show. It happens to be the most important one of my entire career, but you know, I’m not resentful or anything.”

I frown. He may be turning slightly green. “Why would Sam pick tonight?”

“She didn’t mean to. She was trying to talk me up, saying tonight could be my big break . . .” He scratches his head, looking dazed. “I guess she did such a good job her mom decided to come.” He locks eyes with me, pleading, though I can’t help.

I bite my lip and pull open the curtain to look. “Front row, to the left,” he says. They’re easy to spot—stiff and silent among the commotion. Samantha’s lips are sucked in, a crossed leg bobbing as she sits beside a pretty, older woman with short-cropped hair. I try to see the place how this put-together woman might—noting the mismatched audience chairs and mingling smells of beer-stained wood and bathroom cleaner.

Arturo shakes his head as I close the curtain. “This is a nightmare. What if she hates me?”

“Aw.” I palm his cheek, only to snap my hand away. He’s quite sweaty. “You can’t worry about that. Just . . . be funny, okay?”

“You can leave now,” he says with a sigh, pushing me back through the opening. For a moment, I’m alone on the empty stage, the bright lights blinding me. When my eyes adjust I’m surprised to see Logan sitting on Sam’s other side.

I’m sneaking toward the back row when I hear, “Zan!” Dammit. I’ve been caught.

“How’s he doing?” Sam asks as I come over, my eyes decidedly not on Logan.

Samantha and I don’t sugarcoat. “I’m gonna say, bad?”

“Shit,” she whispers to herself. She removes a jacket from the empty seat beside her. “We’ll move down so you can sit with Logan.”

“Oh,” I say, still unable to look at him. “No, no.” But it’s already done, and soon I’m lowering myself stiffly into the spot beside him.

Sam says something in Korean and turns to me. “Zan, this is my mother, Connie. Umma, this is Zan.” Connie reaches across to shake my hand, with a weak smile that has me worried for Arturo. “They sell wine here,” says Sam. “Maybe we should get some?”

“I think we’d better,” her mother agrees.

Logan and I are quiet as they head for the bar, leaving jackets in their places. After a minute I glance over. Logan, infuriatingly, says nothing. I roll my eyes, finally breaking. “What are you doing here?”

“Arturo asked me, remember?”

I cross my arms. “Well, I wasn’t expecting you.”

The lights flicker and Sam returns with her mom, each of them holding a small plastic glass filled to the brim. “He’s gonna be great,” Sam says between gulps. “Right?”

“Right,” I say as convincingly as I can manage.

After another flicker, some feel-good hip-hop starts blaring through the sound system. “Hey hey hey!” shouts a sprightly guy in skinny jeans, clasping his palms together as the spotlight comes on. The cheering ramps up and I realize just how many people are packed into this little place. After the host does his bit, he tells us to turn off our cell phones, and the energy settles. Sam squeezes my hand as the lights go out.

Silence.

After a scuffle, something moves past me in the dark. A chair screeches and someone sits. The lights come up on Arturo, sitting front and center. I didn’t realize he was going first. It must be harder to go first. I meet his stare from a few feet away. A bead of sweat slides along his hairline. Does he know he’s looking at me? And why isn’t he speaking? Speak, Arturo. Speak!

Finally, like a computer screen unglitching, Arturo’s eyes leave mine, shifting off to a point in the middle distance. Beside me, Sam is pulling on her first finger. I hear the knuckle pop.

Arturo clears his throat. “Life is weird, in’it?” he says in a thick New Zealand accent. There’s a small murmur of laughter around us. The accent in itself is funny. Arturo’s arms rest in his lap, his posture sunken. “You work hard, get yourself a nice chrysalis, and you think to yourself—You’ve done it, Glen. Now it’s time to relax.” Arturo doesn’t look as nervous anymore, but I can tell he hasn’t fully settled in. There’s a staleness to the air as people shift in seats. “And then, well . . .” Arturo shakes his head, a look of genuine pain filling his eyes. “Then someone comes along and tells you it’s all about to change. This is the Before Part, Glen,” he says, doing a voice. “No need to get emotional, Glen.” He clucks to himself. “I don’t know about you, but I quite like the before part.” He shrugs. “It’s cozy.”