10. Nick
Chapter ten
Nick
I lean back against the wall of the dance studio.
A full-length mirror on the front wall reflects my loose-fitting shirt and pants back at me.
When Maddie hugged me from behind when I almost told Christina off…
it felt like such a boost of support. When Maddie looked up at me yesterday in the cab after I told her she was pretty when she laughed…
I wanted to kiss her. I take another swig of water from my water bottle to cool down.
Especially now that I know she’s not interested in dating anyone else. No lost love is waiting in the wings.
This is not good. I need to keep feelings out of this. This is a business deal. I can’t date anyone. Maddie is someone who wants a family and deserves a partner who is there for her full-time, not someone who is traveling and “married to his music,” as Christina so aptly put it.
I can’t believe Christina had to cover my new relationship.
But I realized last night that I was over her completely.
I like Maddie so much more, even as just a friend, than I ever liked Christina.
Christina was attractive at first, and she was driven like me, but she doesn’t have that moral core that Maddie has.
I never felt I could fully trust her because of the way she talked about getting stories and how she’d do anything. And I was right in the end.
The photos of Maddie and me in the news articles look like I want to kiss her.
Most of them are titled some variation of “Nick’s New Love”, and the reception is about as good as it can be.
Sure, a few disgruntled fans question what I see in Maddie, but the majority of the comments are about how happy we both look.
“Cara” is quiet. But that only makes me nervous.
Is she gone now for good, or is she planning some new approach?
She increased her follower count, and I’m hoping she’ll now move on to a new story. That would be too easy, right?
I was being honest in the interview when I said Maddie makes me laugh.
Even now, my lips curl up. Maddie mocked me during that interview.
I “support her career”—when she’s been yelling at me for a year that she can’t function on limited sleep—and I’m “so emotionally open.” That’s the first time a “girlfriend” has said that.
Most of the time, any woman I date gets frustrated: “You’re holding back, Nick. ”
Yes, I hold back. Because my relationships aren’t meant to last long term.
And we both agree to that up front. I’ve always been honest before starting a relationship.
I always say that if I ever make it, I’ll have to travel and be on the road for months, and that’s not a life for a family.
But the fact that I say “family” seems to make any woman I date think I’m considering having a family, and then they don’t hear the rest.
It’s why I stopped dating. That, and Christina’s lovely tell-all article about me.
I’m surprised one of the reporters didn’t quote her line in the article that “he literally gets up in the middle of the night and starts scribbling on scraps of paper” and ask Maddie if I still do that.
Maddie could have definitely added her own stories about how I write at all hours of the night—whenever the muse hits.
Dating a wannabe rock star is not all roses.
I finish gulping down my water. MusEn wants two choreographed dance routines, and they’re providing two backup dancers to perform with me while a backtrack plays.
I’m in the studio with the choreographer and my dance captain learning the steps.
It’s like learning another language. They finish conferring about what to do next and ask me if I’m ready to go again.
I nod. It’s cool to see how the choreographer has interpreted my lyrics and the musical score into physical movements.
At first, she clearly thought I was hopeless, but she was kind enough to say, “Fake it till you make it.” But now I’ve memorized the first half, and a bit of respect has formed in her eyes.
I will do anything for this break—almost. I haven’t worked this long to mess up now. If they want me to dance, I will dance.
She presses play, and the song starts up again. I tap my foot to the beat, already bouncing with my knees. And we’re off.
Knee up, scoop, two-step, pas de bourrée (which I initially pronounced as parbolle), slide…
We’re in sync. It’s amazing. I grin at her in the mirror, and she gives a thumbs-up.
I mess up again in the second half, going left when I should have gone right.
“You’ll get it,” she says. “You still look like you’re concentrating too hard in the first half, but we’ll practice it enough that you’ll feel more comfortable.”
She shows me the steps again.
“Remember, in this part, you’re singing that she’s turned away, so you hunch your shoulders, you feel rejected. But then you straighten up when you decide you’re going after her. Right? Isn’t that what the song says?”
I nod.
“Feel that emotion and put it into your body as well as your singing,” she says.
Feel the emotion as if I were pursuing Maddie.
“It all makes sense. Like you said, I need to keep practicing.” I’m used to putting all my emotion into my singing.
Adding choreography is not easy. But I can’t admit that.
I have to believe her when she reassures me that it will become muscle memory.
I should be able to put the emotion into my body as well as my voice.
“It’s good you’re in such good shape already,” she says.
We spend the next half hour working on the second half, and I think I’ve got it.
“Yes!” She high-fives me. “This routine is going to drive your fans crazy.”
“I have a girlfriend,” I say. Who knows if this conversation will be reported anywhere?
“Your girlfriend is a lucky woman.”
If only Maddie agreed.
“That’s it for today,” the choreographer says. “Keep at it tonight, and then we’ll learn the next one in a few days.”
As if I’ve got any more energy to practice at home tonight. I don’t feel like I’m in good shape. Every muscle aches.
I rush out the studio door. I don’t want to be late for my babysitting gig.
Three times a week, I’m responsible for picking up ten-year-old Dylan from school.
I teach him guitar for an hour and then supervise his homework or playdates until his mom comes home at five.
It isn’t a huge deal, especially since he lives in the same apartment building as Maddie and me.
I don’t charge much, but it makes me feel good to help a single mom out. I know how hard my own mom worked.
I make it to the schoolyard in time, and soon, Dylan is sitting at my table doing homework while I set up a security camera on the balcony.
As much as I hope that the Cara-wannabe woman will move on, I don’t trust her not to try to get access to our fire escape to photograph us in our apartments.
Who knows what story she next wants to feature on her YouTube channel.
There. Done. I confirm the video stream is working and watch a pigeon poop. Lovely. We need to install a fake owl. And maybe some sort of noise deterrent.
My phone rings. It’s Luca, one of my best friends. Perfect timing. He works in security.
“Are you and Maddie still coming over for takeout?” he asks. He lives in SoHo, about a mile away from us, so it’s about a twenty-minute walk via Grand Street.
“We are,” I say. “She should be home soon, and then we’ll come over.” I offered to pick up Maddie from work because of that one work rival, but Maddie seemed horrified at my suggestion. She wants to keep work and her “dating” life separate.
“Home soon. You guys are already basically living together,” Luca says.
I snort. “Except that we’re very much not .”
I don’t even have permission to kiss Maddie. And in the cab, when Maddie was looking up at me with those big brown eyes and her hair felt feathery soft, boy, did I want to taste her lips. I think I distracted her from clocking my feelings by asking if we were being followed.
The no-kissing clause seems to be driving my mind crazy. I don’t think I felt desire this deeply before we signed that contract.
I shake my head. I’ve missed whatever Luca said, so I ask him to repeat it. And then I wish I hadn’t because he suggests we date for real.
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” I say. Especially after Maddie’s wholesome suggestion of how we got together. I change the topic by asking him my questions about setting up the camera. He confirms that it’s done correctly.
A knock sounds at the door, and Dylan runs over. It’s his mom, Stacy. She thanks me as Dylan tells her about how I let him play my electric guitar. His mom and I smile at each other over his head.
“Are you going on tour soon?” she asks.
“Yes. They’re lining up the dates now,” I say.
“But I’ve found a replacement for you. You know the family who owns the bar down the street?
One of his daughters says her co-worker is looking for work after her morning shift at the day care, so she could pick up Dylan and look after him until you come home from work. If you trust her when you meet her.”
“That would work well,” she says.
I hear Maddie’s footsteps on the stairs, and then she comes into view on our landing.
“I’m glad you guys are dating,” Stacy says. “I always thought there was something there. You two seem so well-matched.”
Maddie’s step falters for a second, but she recovers quickly. “How so?”
“You seem to communicate well,” she says. “You’re both invested in your careers. While that could be an obstacle, it could also work out for you.”