“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’m just rinsing off.” I get walk to the control panel in the wall and change the settings so that more water pours from an entirely different set of shower heads nearby.
She laughs. “I wasn’t worried.”
“Good.” I let the hot water beat against my skin and tilt my head back. Close my eyes. I try to recall the last time I was in the shower with a woman. Certainly, I’ve done it before, but always for some kind of sexual fantasy to be played out.
This is wholly different.
I’m just literally showering, washing my body, and Haisley happens to be in here with me. I don’t want to fuck her or turn it into something sexual right now.
This feels good in another way.
Intimate.
My heart speeds up momentarily at the thought. Intimacy is to be avoided at all costs. Closeness with anyone is a danger for many reasons, and I have never played with that particular brand of fire.
I finally open my eyes and see Haisley soaping her voluptuous body. As the water beads on her skin, and rivulets run down her arms, legs, back and buttocks. Her hair is slicked back, and her skin is pure.
She’s gorgeous, I realize, and it hits me like a freight train.
Haisley is not simply cute, or sexy, or any of the other nonsense I’ve been telling myself. She’s absolutely stunning.
“What?” she says, her eyes widening as she catches me staring at her.
I can’t even answer. I simply step forward and kiss her lips, and press my body to hers. And then I break it off, because the emotions I’m feeling are practically flammable.
I need to get a hold of myself.
I quickly finish showering, get out and get dressed again.
I’m in more casual clothes now.
After a time, I make my way downstairs.
In an instant, I’ve made a decision. I call one of my assistants and ask them to book us tickets to a show. There’s a new Broadway Production opening, and I’m friendly with the producers.
Having someone like me at the opening could actually bring a little extra buzz to the evening for them, given that some of my movements end up being covered by the local gossip pages.
That sort of nonsense is irrelevant to me, but I’m a bit more concerned about it given my currently unresolved issues.
There’s still all that footage. Waiting, like a ticking time bomb.
But I can’t think about any of that right now.
When Haisley comes down, she is dressed perfectly for what I have planned, a sleek skirt, boots. Sexy but still classy.
I don’t even tell her where we are going, I want it all to be a surprise. I can tell she’s confused, and perhaps apprehensive. After all, not long ago I was throwing her out of my home, and then just as suddenly changed my mind.
I gave her all the money she needed.
But I haven’t explained myself, I haven’t reassured her that she can stay with me the rest of the month. Of course, she has the money, so in reality she could leave at any time and it would be difficult for me to recoup any of what I’ve given her.
I know that Haisley doesn’t want to leave me, though. Despite the fact that she has the money now, and presumably can pay her debts (assuming her story is even true), I am quite certain that Haisley wants to stay on with me.
I should tell her something, give her a sign that she is safe with me. But the fact is, I don’t even know what I might do next. I can’t promise her anything more than the next few minutes.
My heart is black, toxic, inhabitable. My emotions were seared and irreparably damaged a long time ago…
“Dermot?” Haisley asks, snapping me out of my dark thoughts.
We’re being driven across town, and I’ve been lost in my own memories, that long and twisting road that leads nowhere good.
“Haisley,” I respond, giving her my best wry grin, knowing it doesn’t reach my eyes.
“Where are we going?”
“I told you, it’s a surprise.”
Eventually, we arrive at the theater. There is a long line stretching down the block, but lines like this are not for us.
We get out of the car, and I lead Haisley by the arm, past the people, to a nearby unmarked door.
I send a text and the door opens up.
“Mister Nash!” Says a man I’ve never met before. “Sylester and Bernard send their regards and thank you for coming. They do hope you can join them and the cast for a celebratory drink after the show?”
“That sounds lovely,” I tell the man, who hands me a pair of tickets.
He the leads us into the theater.
I glance over at Haisley and I can see that she’s overwhelmed, but she’s smiling. So, I know I haven’t gotten this wrong.
We’re brought down to a couple of the best seats in the house, and the timing is perfect, as the lights come down and the music starts. The show is beginning.
“Have you ever seen a Broadway show before?” I whisper.
“I’ve never been to anything but a few high school plays,” she responds. Her eyes are shining, and she’s marveling at the stage before us.
I’ve forgotten just how special it is to be in New York, to have access to the finest in entertainment and good food, the best live music.
Soon, the show begins. As it’s brand new, I am entranced in much the same way that I imagine Haisley must be. There has been buzz about this production, from those who attended the previews, but this is better than I expected.
Every so often, I glance over at Haisley just to catch her reaction. She’s staring at the stage, eyes wide, delighted, smiling, laughing, and in some moments, there are even tears in her eyes.
Eventually, as jaded and heartless as I tend to be, the performances suck me in. I forget that I’m watching something silly, that these are actors pretending to say and feel and sing these things.
I forget that none of it’s real, and I begin to feel something.
Near the end, when the characters are vindicated and sing a rousing duet, I find even my own eyes moistening.
When the production ends, the crowd jumps to its feet for a standing ovation.
We stay there, clapping, whooping and hollering as the cast comes out for their curtain calls. I’ve been to a lot of Broadway shows over the years, as well as some off-Broadway stuff, and never have I seen a crowd react this way.
It’s magical.
Afterwards, I lead Haisley by the hand through the crowd and down a different corridor than everyone else is going.
“Why are we going this way?” she asks.
“Because, we’ve been invited backstage for drinks with the cast and crew,” I tell her.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” I knock on a door marked private, and it opens. I am immediately recognized by a member of the staff, and we are let into the backstage area.
I hold onto Haisley’s hand as we walk into the madness and jubilant atmosphere of a successful opening night.
People are popping champagne, toasting, singing and dancing (as musical theater types are bound to do if given half a chance).
Some of these people I know, or I think I recognize from the circles we all run in, and most of them recognize me. One of the perks of being semi-famous and mostly notorious around this city is that I never have to introduce myself anymore.
Flutes of champagne are shoved in our hands and we toast.