Chapter 22
Mid- to late June
Impostor syndrome update, number . . . I’ve lost count.
It’s now spilling into the office. Working with Hans and Mike is fun, but I’m having a hard time.
It should be a dream to get paid a generous salary for arranging parties and doing social media campaigns, all about luxury real estate.
But I’m finding it increasingly sickening.
All the money, the sales mentality, the push to get every dollar, even though everybody is already rich.
The systematic gentrification of New York neighborhoods where nobody can afford to live unless they’re wealthy.
The parties, the air kissing, so much champagne.
I’ve found it hard to bite my tongue on a couple of occasions.
It’s hard to care when my emotions are all over the place. One moment I’m lying in bed with Rob, skin on skin, blissfully happy. The next, I am consumed with guilt that I just married a man who is not really my husband.
He’s yours.
I do realize that. I’ve admitted it to myself.
I believe in my heart that you exist separately from me, that we did switch lives that day.
That I’m betraying you by being with your husband.
And that from the start, I’ve been writing this diary for you, not for me.
So you’ll know what happened here, if we ever switch back.
* * *
A familiar, freckled hand with sandy hair at the wrist reaches over my shoulder and places a large glass of wine on the table.
“Congratulations. I heard it was an amazing wedding.”
I turn and give Peter a warm smile. “Thanks. Yeah, it was wonderful. I thought you and Michelle were coming, though? We missed your dulcet baritone on ‘Can’t Sleep Love.’ Katie and Allen did an awesome job, but that song is so yours.”
“It’s yours too. I guess it wouldn’t have been right for you to do a passionate duet with another guy at your wedding. Or for me to sing it with you. Michelle’s hormones might not have stood for it.”
Opposite me, Lisa laughs too loudly. I give her a sideways look.
“Yeah, might have been a touch inappropriate.” I pause, craning my neck back toward Peter. “You want to sit?”
Peter pushes his glasses up his nose. “Need to catch up with the rest of the basses. Got to hear Ryan’s story about how he hit on one of your relatives without noticing her wedding ring.”
I laugh. “My sister, actually. I heard her side of the story. Well, report back. Thanks for the drink.”
“You’re welcome. See you later, ladies.”
Lisa coos a “See you, Peter” at him, watching him lope away. I shake my head. “Want to mop up the drool with this napkin?”
“He’s so darn cute!” Lisa shakes her head. “And he likes you, you greedy bitch. What, it’s not enough for you that you have this charming, handsome, rich husband — who you’ve now married twice, for chrissake — you gotta steal the attention of the one hot guy in our group too?”
“Hey, enough.” I squirm uncomfortably. “He and Michelle are having a baby, remember? Sure, we have our duet together, but that’s all. We’re both taken, so it’s okay for us to be friends.”
“If you say so.” Lisa smirks. “What does Rob make of your smoochy duet? He’s coming to the show, right?”
“He’ll be fine. Rob’s not the jealous type. I haven’t told him it’s a duet, only that I got a feature song and have extra rehearsals. But I’ll tell him.”
Lisa’s eyebrow arches. “You better. You don’t want him to at the show, and he’s like, ‘So this hot guy is the reason for all your extra rehearsals, and you failed to mention him?’”
I grin. “For one thing, it wouldn’t even occur to Rob that Peter is hot. And I will tell him. We have no secrets. Rob will be happy that I’ve got a moment in the spotlight. No big deal it’s with another guy.”
I glance along the table at where the basses are laughing at something Ryan just said, no doubt about my sister. Peter catches my eye, stops laughing and smiles at me quizzically. I give him a half-smile, then look away, changing the subject with Lisa.
When I arrive home, Rob is slumped reading on the couch, even though it’s late.
“Hey. You’re not in bed yet?”
He sits upright. “Wanted to be awake when you got in. How were drinks?”
I walk over and kiss him on the temple. “Great. I like that bar. Gets tiring, though, going out after rehearsal.”
“Yeah, your rehearsals are longer than usual. I guess it’s to be expected, this close to show time. Is it all going well?”
“Yeah.” I remember my conversation with Lisa.
“Actually, all those longer rehearsals are because I’m doing a duet in the show.
You know the Pentatonix song ‘Can’t Sleep Love’ that’s been my earworm?
This is like a slushy, duet version. It’s a lovely arrangement.
Plus, it means I get a nice spotlight moment without having to do a scary solo. ”
“That’s awesome. I know the song. You’ve been watching the YouTube video of two guys covering it. That American Idol dude. Never assume I’m not familiar with your internet habits, young lady. Who’s the duet with?”
“Peter. You met him at last year’s show, but he wasn’t at our wedding. Tall, lanky dude. Glasses. Good voice.”
“Bet it’s not as good as mine.” Rob grabs me around the legs, pulling me into him, and breaks into wobbly falsetto, crooning the song’s chorus.
I laugh. “No, your voice is far superior, honey. You should join our choir, you’d be brilliant — aside from your abject terror of public performance, of course.” I pull myself upright, my hands resting on his shoulders. I kiss him again, then step away. “I’m exhausted. Bed. Sleep.”
“No!” Rob calls as I ascend the steps toward our bedroom. He croons after me, “Can’t sleep love.”
He’s right. Despite my exhaustion after a long day, the intense rehearsal and the wine, sleep is reluctant.
It’s been elusive for a while now, slipping away night by night, ever since I agreed to remarry Rob.
And in the week since we’ve been back from Venice, insomnia has crept its way into my bedroom every night, like an old lover with a bad habit.
The few hours I do sleep don’t really help.
Because, behind that wall, She’s always there.
She’s been there every night since the carnival ball.
Sometimes masked, sometimes in a mirror — at other times, she’ll appear in front of me when I’ll be walking down the street of an unnamed city or along an abandoned beach.
Sometimes she speaks, implores me — other times she shakes her head in disbelief.
So I’ve started to avoid sleep, sitting up in the dark instead, staring out at the Empire State Building, watching Rob. His chest rising and falling. That goddamn duet tune in my head, constantly.
* * *
“Bravo, baby! Or should it be brava?” Rob throws his arms open in the theatre lobby and I walk into them. He rocks me back and forth.
I kiss him and smile. “Thanks, baby. And thanks for the drink.” There’s whiskey for him and a glass of wine for me waiting on the bar. “I didn’t realize how nervous I was, but the duet was a big deal for me. Plus the audience was huge. We sold out.”
“I could see, honey.” He strokes my hair as I sip at the wine. “You were fantastic. Here, take this stool, I’ll stand.”
I accept, my feet throbbing after two hours in my heels. Lisa, in a tight black dress and a vibrant yellow scarf, flops on the bar next to me.
She smiles sunnily at Rob. “Wasn’t your wife amazing?”
“Absolutely. You all were.”
“Aww, you’re a peach! So, spill. Which song was your favorite?”
“Well, I’m a Bond fan, so I loved ‘Skyfall’. ‘Under Pressure’ was awesome too. But ‘Can’t Sleep Love’ was probably the best.”
“Very diplomatic,” Lisa winks. “Speaking of . . . Peter! Over here. Buy me a drink, would you? My purse is in the green room.”
Peter saunters over, already changed back into a checked shirt and jeans. “Sure. White wine? I’ll buy a bottle.”
“May the Lord bless you.” Lisa, a vehement atheist, laughs.
I turn to Peter. “Hey, you remember Rob?”
The two men shake hands across me. “Hey. Peter Klavins. Yeah, we met briefly this time last year.”
“Rob Billing. I remember meeting you and your partner. Congratulations, I heard about the baby. Is your partner here?”
“No, Michelle isn’t feeling like sitting in a theatre seat for two hours right now, especially while I’m performing a duet with another woman. We’re due in three weeks.”
“That’s exciting. So . . . Klavins? Unusual name.”
“Latvian. I’m first-generation American, my parents immigrated after they married.”
“Right. Great job on the duet, by the way. You guys sounded awesome.”
“Thanks. Lots of practice. Some tough harmonies, but I think we pulled it off, right, Jose?”
I take a gulp of wine, feeling Peter’s casual abbreviation of my name create a slight tension.
“Yeah.” I focus on my wine. “It went as well as it could’ve. Go team.”
Rob looks at me, sensing my discomfort. He turns back to Peter. “Josie says you’re a videogame designer. Anything I might have heard of?”
“Maybe Heist? That’s our biggest.”
“Wow — I’ve played Heist a bunch. Nice. It’s huge.”
“And you’re a real estate developer?”
“Yep.” Rob takes a sip of whiskey. “Did some work on the W Hotel, and then designed and built the tower we live in, Cavendish House, named after this lovely woman, of course. We’re working on a loft development in Tribeca right now, plus a bunch of boutique buildings. Business is good.”
“Cool.”
I keep sipping my wine, feeling like the two men, though cordial, are in some kind of pissing contest. Lisa is watching with unrestrained curiosity. Thankfully Ryan and a couple of others show up, so any awkwardness — perceived or real — dissipates.
After a glass of wine, I’m wiped. Peter picks up the bottle to pour me another, but I put my hand on his arm. “Thanks, but I’m going to ask Rob to take me home. I’m flaking.”
“Of course. We’ve all worked hard. You rest up.”
Lisa adds, “No sweat, girl. I’ll drink your share. Peter will help me, right, Peter?”