Forty-Two Arya
forty-two
Arya
Good job, azizam,” Arya’s mom said as they stood to applaud.
“It wasn’t me,” Arya pointed out.
“I know how hard you work. Even if someone else had to finish.”
The evening had gone splendidly. Arya let himself take a moment to be proud. He had worked hard even if, as his mom said, Carley got it over the finish line. But of course she had. She was a fucking badass.
The dinner had been perfect, the wines delicious, the programming succinct and entertaining, and the concert had gone off without a hitch.
Martina swept her arm out to the orchestra for them to take another bow. Arya clapped harder, his eyes focused on one cellist in particular.
He had no idea how Ben would take him showing up. Maybe Ben wasn’t ready to forgive him. Maybe he never would be. But Arya was willing to try.
He’d even brought his mom with him.
It wasn’t running through an airport, or hiring a skywriter, but it was kind of a big deal for Arya.
Arya had never brought his mom to meet any man before.
That was as grand a gesture as he could think of.
When Arya had asked his mom to come with him, she’d said yes right away. Hadn’t asked for any details, other than what she should wear. She’d been proud to go with him.
She hadn’t even complained that she usually spent Saturday evenings with Parviz.
“You are what’s most important,” she told Arya when he asked about it.
She’d worn a stylish red dress, done her hair in an elegant bun, even checked with Arya on his nail color so she could coordinate.
(His were silver tonight, so hers were gold).
She’d charmed the folks at their table—people from the Kansas City Arts Council—while they ate, and oohed and aahed during the performance.
“Will there be dancing after?” she asked. Arya had to lean in close to make her out over the applause.
“There will.”
“I’m going to teach all these white people to beshkan,” she said, which got a snort of laughter out of Arya.
“Thanks for coming tonight, Maman.”
“Always, joonam. Always.”
They clapped and clapped, Arya’s eyes fixed on Ben, so he knew the moment Ben clocked him.
Arya’s heart lodged itself in his throat. Was Ben going to frown? Flip Arya off?
Go find Carley and get Arya dragged out by security?
No.
Instead, Ben smiled at him, soft as a sunrise, before filing offstage with the rest of the musicians.
Arya’s heart soared, shooting past his throat to take off into the night sky to dance among the clouds, louder than the thunderstorm.
Arya smiled back.
Maybe they were going to be okay after all.
That was, if Arya could ever actually find Ben.
Since he didn’t work for MME anymore, Arya didn’t have a badge to get backstage. Though it hardly mattered: The crowd was pressing toward the dance floor, and he could hardly reach the doors anyway.
He settled on looking for Carley instead, hoping for a flash of her black hair, when a voice called to him.
“Arya?”
Arya turned to find Mr. Holbrook and Diane.
Mr. Holbrook was dressed in a purple crushed velvet suit that was way bolder than Arya had expected, but it went perfectly with Diane’s emerald evening dress.
Arya had spotted them in the line for the bar earlier, but he’d been too focused on getting his mom settled to say hello.
“Diane! Mr. Holbrook! Great to see you. Did you enjoy the ball?”
“One of the best they’ve done,” Mr. Holbrook said. “I believe you had a hand in that, no?”
Arya gave a modest shrug. He certainly did have a hand in it, but so did plenty of other people who deserved their flowers.
“But I heard you and your old company parted ways. Is that right?”
“Ah.” Arya cleared his throat and tugged on his tie. It suddenly felt a little tight. He wasn’t sure what communication Mr. Holbrook had with Mitchell since.
Nor was he certain how much he could say without a lawyer present.
“That’s right.”
“I thought so.” Mr. Holbrook stepped closer. “You hanging your shingle somewhere else?”
Arya pursed his lips. He still hadn’t decided, honestly. There was so much to sort out first.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Well, if you do, give us a call. I’d still like to work with you.”
Arya’s eyes widened. Arya figured Mr. Holbrook liked him well enough, but still, that was a huge vote of confidence.
“Thank you. I appreciate that. I’ll let you know.”
“Good. You know, you remind me of myself at your age.” He took in Arya’s suit—turquoise with a bit of a silken sheen to it—and nodded. “Though I probably dressed a little more boldly than you.”
He said it with a flat voice, but his eyes were sparkling with humor.
Arya laughed. “I believe that. But I’ll do my best to catch up.”
Mr. Holbrook clapped Arya on the shoulder, and Diane stepped in to give him a quick hug and air-kisses. “You’re a dear.”
“Thanks,” Arya said, though it was drowned out as the DJ started and thrumming bass filled the ballroom.
Arya wished he’d brought his earplugs.
The crowd began to part, though, some folks peeling off toward the bars, others toward the exits to head home early, the rest crowding onto the dance floor, where Arya could just make out his mom in the center of a tight circle.
As the sea of people parted, he caught a familiar flash of curly black hair.
“Carley!” he shouted.
She spun, her silver dress shimmering around her. Surprise and delight flitted across her features. “Arya!”
Arya dodged around a wide-shouldered man carrying way too many glasses of wine and pulled Carley into a hug. “Everything was terrific.”
“Of course it was,” she said, flicking her hair off her shoulders. “I still can’t believe you abandoned me, though. When can I come work for you instead? Mitchell’s imploding even faster than usual.”
Arya sighed. He’d been afraid of that, which is probably why he hadn’t actually talked to anyone at MME since. Well, that and the lawyers.
“I’m legally not allowed to talk about that. But I’m sorry and I miss you. And when I can talk about it, I’ll call you first. Okay?”
“Deal. I miss you, too, you know.”
Arya wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve such a loyal friend, but he was endlessly grateful. He pulled her into another hug, her hair brushing his cheek.
“You’re the best.”
“I know, bitch.” Carley gave him a twinkly smile. “Where were you all this time? You weren’t at our table.”
MME had a table toward the front, though Arya had no idea who’d actually shown up.
“The whole ball was sold out! I had to beg some folks on the arts council for seats.”
“Seats?”
“I brought my mom with me.”
“Holy shit. I’ve never met your mom.”
“I know. I’ll introduce you to her. But first…”
“Ah.” Carley grinned wide. “You here for your man?”
“God, is it that obvious?”
“Painfully.” Carley disentangled a lanyard from the five different necklaces she was wearing. It had a convention center badge on the end of it.
“He should still be in the service corridor.”
“Thanks.”
Arya ducked around a tray of empty glasses waiting to be bussed and pushed open the heavy doors to the service hallway.
It was warmer back there, the summer heat creeping in from the nearby loading dock, though gusts of cooler air blew down the hall every time someone opened a door at one end or the other.
Musicians clustered in the stark corridor, packing away their instruments, laughing and chatting, some sipping drinks now that the performance was over, a few nibbling on desserts they’d snagged.
Arya ignored them all, looking for the cellists.
Looking for Ben.
He spotted TJ first, looking dapper and happy with Marisol on his arm.
When had that happened? How had he missed it?
“Arya!” Marisol waved him over, pulling him into a hug. “What’re you doing here? I thought you and Ben broke up.”
TJ made a choking noise. That was fair.
“I helped design the event before I quit my old job,” he said. “Wanted to see how it turned out.”
TJ had recovered from his shock. “Oh? Is that the only reason?”
Arya smiled and shook his head.
“I just saw him go back out to the ballroom.”
Arya groaned. Seriously? He’d finally made his way back here.
But TJ just smiled wider.
“He was looking for you.”
Arya’s heart gave a happy little skip.
“Thanks, TJ.”
He ran for the door.