Chapter Sixteen #2
“If I thought He could help right now, I’d be saying all my Hail Marys.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “I swear, this production is cursed.”
She crossed her arms against her chest. A silence settled between them as her eyes drifted toward the wall, deep in thought.
She was like a chess player when it came to production schedules.
He knew she was running through a dozen different options in her head.
Finally, after a few solid minutes, she returned from the game.
“I need to get a firm count on how many in the cast and crew are sick right now,” she explained.
“From there, I can figure out next steps. If it’s only Kairo, we may be able to run practice without him.
If it’s more than Kairo, we’ll have to reblock.
Either way, I want a firm number—and Demi involved in all conversations going forward—before any bigwig on the twenty-seventh floor hears about this. Capiche?”
He raised both hands in open surrender. “Capiche.”
“Do you have enough Covid and flu tests to assess everyone on the crew?”
“I should,” David said, thinking back to the supply cabinet. “But I can always hit up CVS if we’re running low.”
“One of the production interns can hit up CVS. For now, I need you on set.” He could see her mind working in overdrive. “I’ll shut down rehearsal for the rest of the afternoon, and we’ll test anyone who has had any contact with Kairo from the first day of rehearsal onward.”
It was a good plan.
“And Kairo?” David asked.
She sighed heavily. “I’m going to break his heart by sending him home.”
Evelyn took one deep and settling breath before puffing out her chest courageously and heading back into his office.
He couldn’t hear what Evelyn was saying, but he could see her, bent down, whispering to Kairo, one hand posed on the center of his back in a comforting position.
When he heard Kairo crying—sobbing, in fact—he knew the task was done.
A few minutes later, Evelyn returned to the hallway.
David swallowed. “You did the right thing.”
“I know,” she said, her face devoid of expression. “See you upstairs in fifteen minutes, then?”
He nodded, and then watched her depart. The ball of grief that lived inside his chest returned. Because he didn’t understand it—the way she could fight so hard for others, advocate for them even when it hurt her, but never do the same for their marriage.
Evelyn observed the long line of cast and crew waiting to get tested for flu. She had been promised a rapid process, but it was taking forever. She tapped her foot, up and down, feeling anxious, before her eyes landed on David.
He was being so careful, changing his gloves between swabs, sanitizing hands between patients—and weirdly, watching him, a smile crept up on her face.
She loved seeing the doctor come out in him, the gentleness he brought to his work, and she had forgotten how sexy David could look simply scratching his eyebrow.
She was staring too much.
She forced herself to look to the stage-door exit, but her mind wandered back to David.
He had always been so damn methodical. The dishwasher plates organized by size, with knives pointing down and spoons pointing up.
The bed made before leaving for work every morning.
And then there was the sex. A pleasurable tickle spread across her body as she remembered the way his fingers would tease her clit over soaking wet panties.
“Hey,” David said.
Evelyn sat up, startled. “Hey,” she squeaked out.
Shifting in her seat, pressing her thighs together, she tried to act like she wasn’t just thinking about having sex with her ex-husband. “So, what’s the news?” she said, attempting to sound focused and professional, even as one hand drifted up to her neck and fondled the collar of her shirt.
David began giving her the rundown. Five people in total had tested positive for the flu. Two were members of the chorus. God, his voice was sexy. One was a cameraman. In addition, she was down a dancer and a prop master.
It was terrible news. She would have to spend the entire night reblocking their production to prepare for Jared Sparks’s arrival, and yet all she could focus on was that annoyingly adorable divot that sat above David’s upper lip and moved up and down while he spoke.
“There’s one more thing,” David said.
Evelyn forced herself back to reality.
David held up a flu test. “I still need to test you.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Not a chance.”
Evelyn rose from her seat, attempting to escape him by waving Demi over.
David chased after her. “You might be sick,” he said.
“I’m not sick,” she said, puffing out her chest to demonstrate her vivacity. “In fact, I feel perfectly healthy.”
It was the truth. Aside from the migraines, possible delusions, overwhelming stress and bone-crushing fatigue, she was perfectly healthy.
And even if she were sick, she would slap on a mask, overdose on cold-and-flu medicine and continue working.
It was one thing to send cast and crew home who weren’t feeling well, but she held herself to a different standard.
Demi appeared, tablet in hand. “I called the babysitter,” she informed her. “You have me for the next six hours.”
“You’re the best, Demi,” Evelyn said, entirely grateful.
She began to move off set, away from David, when he tried again. “Evelyn,” he said, grabbing her gently by the elbow, “wait up a minute.”
With no choice, she stopped. “What?”
“The flu has an incubation period of two to four days.”
“So?”
David leaned forward, his lips pressing precipitously close to her own. Her own body getting heated. Why did this man have to smell so damn good? “I’m just saying,” he said quietly, “there’s a real risk here that while you’re not displaying symptoms now, you may be displaying them later.”
She didn’t have time to waste on warnings. “Point taken.”
David sighed and stepped away. “All right,” he said, giving up. “Well, if anything comes up, migraines or otherwise . . . give me a call.”
“Will do!” She smiled, and then quickly moved to escape the man.
She returned to Demi, finding the choreographer to begin reblocking the main numbers, trying to dismiss any thought of David from her mind.
She didn’t want her ex-husband to swab her.
She didn’t want to part her lips for him or feel the heat of his body inching closer.
She didn’t want to be cared for by him. It would simply hurt too much.
She didn’t trust herself around him. When David stood too close, all the memories of their happy times together came flooding back, and all she wanted to do was fall into his arms, feel the heat of his body pressing against her own, the safety in it.
She wanted to hear his voice telling her it would all be okay, that he loved her, that he would always be there for her.
Even though it would all be a lie. She could never trust him again, because he had left her.
And so she ignored the pang of desire sitting in her chest, the constant and confusing longing, because she missed him.
She hated him, and she wanted him, and she hated herself for wanting him.
That same evening, David stood outside Festival of Flights, a Hanukkah pop-up bar on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, waiting for Claire to arrive for their second date.
“David,” Claire called out, waving at him from the end of the block.
He moved to greet her, giving her a tiny peck on the cheek upon arrival. “Did you have any trouble finding it?” he asked.
“None.” She smiled warmly in his direction.
She had a nice smile. She had a nice everything. Yet, at the very same time, an ache appeared in his chest, because she wasn’t Evelyn.
“Should we go inside?” he asked.
“Please.”
Growing up, there was no such thing as a Hanukkah pop-up.
The most you could hope for was a less-than-stellar Hanukkah bazaar held at your local JCC or synagogue.
But Judaism was a culture that had always embraced a good celebration.
In recent years, contemporary Jews were taking Hanukkah celebrations and making them their own through books, merchandise and events.
Entering the bar, David noted that Festival of Flights was full-on packed for the third night of Hanukkah.
“This is amazing!” Claire said, eyes wide.
Blue and silver garland decorated the bar.
Traditional Jewish music—songs in Yiddish, Hebrew and Klezmer—blended with techno, electronica and pop and filtered throughout the various hallways and rooms. On the tables were dreidels and specialty Hanukkah menus.
Searching for a spot to sit, they meandered through the building before heading to the second floor and out to a back deck.
Covered in aluminum foil and guarded by glass boxes on a long table were dozens of menorahs that guests could light for the night.
“Should we?” David asked.
Her gaze drifted up to him. “I’d love to.”
They went to do the blessings. David took the initiative, wrapping one arm around Claire in the process, his hand landing in the center of her back—and he tried so hard to focus, to be with Claire and remain in the present, but his mind kept returning to Evelyn.
“Should we go find a seat?” David said when they were finished.
They wandered for a few more minutes, passing a build-your-own-latke station, a room where teams of friends were playing Hanukkah trivia, and a booth where ugly Hanukkah sweaters and tiny bags of gelt tied together with a star of David ribbon were available for sale.
Finally, David found a cozy nook in the corner of one of the rooms. He let Claire slide into the booth first, following after her, before handing out the menus.
“This is really, really cool,” she said.
“Right?” David smiled. “I’m not sure where to start.”