Chapter 47
FEbrUARY
We've got a month until opening night. I'm still screwing up my dance routine and getting yelled at by Byron at rehearsals.
I'm also extra nervous about the date with him, which doesn't help matters.
I haven't seen Felix outside of school all week because he says he's busy working on the UIL project with Roland.
When I get home from rehearsal, I spruce myself up for dinner. Dinah knocks on my door.
“About that reservation to Firenze…” she says.
“Mm-hmm?”
“I need to go there tonight. Turns out they're fully booked.”
“Oh, that's too bad.” I know what she's trying to do, so I try to migrate away from her. Her face and posture grow tense.
“This is life or death. I received some important intelligence from Margaret today.”
“I'm not giving my reservation to you.”
“Then add us to your table,” she says.
“I don't think it works like that,” I respond.
“Sure it does! Just show up and say I meant to say the reservation was for four. Insist that you said that and they screwed up. They can't say you're in the wrong.”
“No. I have to do this as part of a bargain with Byron.”
“Whatever, Wade. I'm sure he'd understand. Not everyone is as negative as you.”
I shake my head.
“If you do this for me, I'll do anything you want. Tell me right now,” Dinah says.
“I don't believe you.”
“Try me.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“I want nothing to do with your podcast and this Sasquatch vaccine lie anymore. And,” I say, “I need you to sign off as a guarantor for the co-op Felix and I are going to move to in LA. We have enough money for rent, so you won't have to pay anything.”
She cringes, as if she's eating her own words. The cringe slowly grows into a look of resignation.
“Deal. You are released, and I'll sign your stupid hippie co-op thing.”
Byron isn't going to be happy, but I can't resist the opportunity to be let go from this nightmare.
___________
The inside of Firenze is covered in fake marble, with paintings of the Italian countryside hanging on every wall.
A tacky replica of the Trevi Fountain stands in the middle of the restaurant.
Our table is decorated neatly with flowers and a candle.
I'm seated comfortably by the white-paned window on a tufted dining chair.
Dinah, looking really spiffy in a cocktail dress and sunglasses, is across from me, Clint is to my right with a tacky cologne scent that doesn't mask his BO, and to my left is Byron, who doesn't take his death glare off me for one second.
A text message pops up on my phone from Byron:
I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you
I smile apologetically.
The manager, a small, round lady with a lisp, welcomes us and tells us our waiter will be with us soon.
“You hear that lisp? God, I would never talk again,” Dinah says to Clint.
In the distance, Carsten appears with a stack of menus. Byron yanks my hand onto the table, and then his fingers begin massaging mine. Carsten greets us and sets the menus in front of us without so much as a glance at us.
“Let me bring over some water while you figure out what to order,” he says, and disappears into the kitchen.
Byron and I look at each other.
“Do you think he even saw us?” I ask.
“They can probably see y'all from outer space with the hand shit you're pulling right now,” Dinah says.
“We're not dating,” I insist.
“No, of course you aren't,” she says.
Byron frowns. “He's not joking.”
Dinah rolls her eyes. “Yeah. Okay, Heated Rivalry.”
Clint rubs his mustache, studying Byron. “I see interracial couples all the time on bank commercials and real estate commercials, so if you're trying to be on the down-low, it's not working. It's the thing the media's trying to push on everybody now.”
Byron lifts the edge of the tablecloth and eyeballs Clint. “Could you manspread any further?”
Carsten returns with a pen and notepad. There's no way he doesn't notice us.
“I'll get the spaghetti, no meatballs,” I say, and Byron orders the same, stroking the back of my head.
“Wait,” Byron says, dropping his hand. “No meatballs? Of course, meatballs.”
Carsten nods, his expression blank like he doesn't know us. Byron studies him with the energy of a jaguar ready to pounce.
“So! You give Darren an STD yet?” he straight-up asks Carsten, whose eyes are now fixed on Dinah. He says nothing back. It's clear that he knows we're here together and is trying not to react.
“Don't interrupt me when I'm about to order,” Dinah snaps at Byron. “I'll have the salad of the day. And your nicest bottle of red wine.”
Clint orders a steak and pulls out a bottle of ketchup from his blazer. “I got a hankerin' for a nice, well-done steak!”
I'm still not sure why Dinah had to be here tonight and why she had to drag Clint along with her. The fact that she still has her sunglasses on tells me she's trying to hide from somebody.
“Why are you wearing your sunglasses inside?” I ask.
“Mind your own business,” she says.
Carsten brings over a basket of bread and the drinks. Dinah downs her glass of wine in seconds and pours some more. Clint shoves a breadstick into his mouth after dumping it into a plate of olive oil.
“This dinner's fixin' to be crunk. Do y'all still use that word? ‘Crunk'?” Clint asks Byron, who immediately clocks the meaning of the word “y'all.”
If Byron's stare was a samurai sword, I'd be a mountain of sashimi right now.
Another text from him:
die die die die die die die die die
Dinah takes another prolonged swig of wine, then swiftly lifts herself out of her seat and waddles precariously through a thin path of space between tables. She stops in front of a handsome, stubbly man in business attire who clinks glasses with a younger, smitten blonde.
Oh no. It's the guy who dumped her last year. That explains everything.
“Cal! What are you doing here with your secretary?” she asks.
“Uh, this is not my secretary. Not that it's any of your business,” he says.
She stares down his date like she's an unworthy bug. “You never took me to this place when we were dating, but that's okay.”
“While I have you,” Cal says. “Are you the one who keeps calling the city to report my house for fake yard violations? I'm friends enough with my neighbors to know it's not them.”
“No! I don't think about you at all! I'm busy with my podcast, which is very successful, by the way.”
“That's great. I don't know what that is.”
“My boyfriend Clint and I developed a medicine that helps millions of men,” she says proudly, indicating Clint at our table, who has been too busy downing oil-slicked breadsticks to pay attention.
“Mmmm. Mighty fine, mighty fine,” he says to himself.
Cal takes one look at him and nods. “Oh, yes. Clint Holtz. That Pecos guy with the dumb Plutonium Cactus show. Everybody knows him.” I can see Dinah's body trembling and the rage growing in her eyes.
“It's MY show. It was MY idea.”
“Fantastic. I'm happy for you,” Cal continues. “Can you please leave us alone now?”
Dinah grabs the edge of his table with both hands. “No. I'm happy for YOU!”
Clint's gaze finally finds its way to the commotion. He asks me what's going on, and I just shake my head.
“Terrific. Have a good night, okay? I'm getting the check.” He raises his hand.
Dinah freezes for a moment, her anger rising. She turns to his date. “You better watch out for him because he's a fucking stalker!”
“I can't do this,” Cal tells his date, throwing his napkin on the table. “You need professional help, Dinah. Please get it.”
She picks up Cal's wine and douses his lap with the thick red liquid. I drop my napkin and jump out of my seat.
Clint stands up after me. “Dinah! What the hell are you doing, babe?”
Carsten, watching from the kitchen entrance, runs into a back room. The manager with the lisp scurries out to investigate.
“What seems to be the problem here?”
“She's harassing me,” Cal says with pleading eyes. With a practiced smile, the manager turns to Dinah and politely asks her to go back to her seat. A deadly miscalculation on her part.
Dinah, sunglasses drooping down her nose, gets in her face menacingly. “Sth-sth-sth-sthuffering sthuccotash!”
My brain short-circuits. Every table in the restaurant is now staring at us. Byron slides his chair back to the window and wraps the curtain around himself.
I cross through the tables quickly and tug Dinah's arm, trying to get her to sit down.
“Stop now. Please go back to the table,” I order her like she's my child. She pushes me back.
“You sit your ass back down, nancy boy,” she snarls.
I ignore her and pull the manager aside to speak privately, but her quiet, furious gaze is fixed on Dinah.
“Ma'am, I'm so sorry, my aunt is like this when she hasn't eaten,” I tell her. “We'll get our food and she'll chill out.”
“She dumped wine in my lap,” Cal says, pointing at the red stain all over his pants.
“Sthorry,” Dinah says. “Excuse me, I mean sorry.”
The manager's face reddens. “Ma'am, you need to leave. Get out of my restaurant before I call the police,” she demands.
“The poleeeth! Oh no, not the poleeeth!”
The manager orders us all up and out. As we do our walk of shame, Carsten finally looks directly at Byron and me with a smirk and shakes his head. Byron is typing up a storm on his phone, and I hear a constant pinging come from mine.
Dinah storms out the exit in front of us, but not before turning and glaring at a lady who watches her. “Don't you start with me!”
___________
Byron is silent as he drives us to the movie theater in his Mercedes.
“I guess now you know what I have to live with at home,” I say.
“Thanks for giving me a taste.” Byron's face spreads in a pained, sardonic grin.
“Carsten was probably a little bit stung to see you with me, right?” I ask.
“You can stop talking now. Let's get the other half of this date over with so I can be done with you.”
The front of the movie theater parking lot is full. Byron still drives through it until we get to the front entrance square.
“Whoa! Is it even legal to park here?” I ask.
“They know me,” Byron says as he steps out quickly, like I smell awful.
In the lobby, I see Felix and Roland at the concession stand. There's a big poster in front of us for Golf Clap showing a woman wrapping her arms around a sullen man on a golf course.
Byron slaps the back of my head.
“What are you waiting for? Let's get this over with.”
We walk up behind them.
“Wade, get me some popcorn and a drink,” he says extra loud.
Roland and Felix immediately turn their heads around.
“Oh! Fancy seeing you two here.” Byron scowls at Roland. “Did Roland crawl through your window, too?”
“Wait. You two are here together?” Felix asks.
I'm holding Byron's hand and try to pull his arm up above my shoulder. He tries to pull mine above his. We silently fight for dominance until I give in and rest my arm over his shoulder.
“Taking advantage of the night off. Thought we'd go see Golf Clap to observe the good acting,” I say. The concession stand employee takes my order and gives me a big bag of popcorn.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” Felix pulls me aside. “Since when are you on speaking terms with Byron Murphee, never mind dating him?”
“Need I remind you that I am currently in a musical with him? Why are you acting so shocked?” I say.
“You never told me.”
“You took forever to tell me you were dating Roland.”
Felix is gagged. His shoulders sag in frustration. “And you're interested in seeing Golf Clap?”
“I can't change my mind and expand my horizons?” I say.
I walk back over to Byron and wrap my arm around him, and he slaps it off before we enter the theater. I lead him to the front next to the wheelchair accessible seats.
“We have to sit near the screen for two hours? Get the hell out of here,” he says.
“It's a mission. Not a movie night,” I say. When I take my seat, I notice Leo Steger sitting next to me, for whatever reason.
Roland wheels in a couple of seats down from us in the same row.
When the movie starts, I notice that Roland has his hand over Felix's as Felix feeds him some of his popcorn. I try to one-up it by feeding Byron a little too vigorously, and he coughs the popcorn up and spits it out. He whacks me in the ribs with the back of his hand.
This movie is so boring. Leo falls asleep and snores, but that's more likely due to his sundowning.
I stick my face into Byron's and tell him in a loud whisper that he looks amazing. I awkwardly place my lips on his, my eyes on Felix, hoping he sees. Byron starts kissing me back. It occurs to me that this is the first time I've ever kissed somebody. It's kind of cool. I like it.
“Stop making out,” somebody grumbles from one of the rows above.
Our bodies separate and slacken back into our chairs. After a few minutes, we start again, and a light shines from behind us. It's an usher with a flashlight.
“Fam, you touch each other one more time, I'm gonna drag your asses out to the parking lot,” he says. “I ain't letting you ruin the Oscar bait movies. Take that shit to the Minecraft movie with all the other thirteen-year-olds.”
I relent and slide back into my seat. I glance at Felix and Roland again. They haven't looked at me once. This whole night has been a complete failure, so I decide to give it up and rest my eyes for the remainder of the movie.
Except when I open my eyes, it's like I'm looking into a void. The screen is dark. I glance around me and the theater is empty. Byron's gone. I turn to my other side and Leo is still there, except he's awake and staring at me.
“I don't understand. Nobody clapped once in the whole movie!''