Home > Roman and Jewel(9)

Roman and Jewel(9)
Author: Dana L. Davis

   He looks up, and our eyes meet. “I’ll text you later. I’m sort of in the middle of something.”

   “I’m sorry. Love you.” She sounds like she’s about to cry.

   “I know. Me, too.” He ends the call.

   Ava, huh? Must be a girlfriend. Probably one of many. I watch him closely as he stuffs the phone back into the pocket of his jeans. He strikes me as that typical rich, New York City, private-school white boy. I bet he’s from SoHo. Or no, correction. Those John Varvatos boots he’s wearing probably cost a thousand dollars. This isn’t a rebel. This is just a boy with rich parents wasting Mom and Dad’s money on expensive clothes. I’d say he lives on the Upper East Side. That’s old money.

   I pull on the straps of my backpack, which probably makes me look like I’m twelve. Not that it matters. Two different households. Nothing alike in dignity.

   “I should get going. Thanks for your help.” I move toward the door.

   “Wait.” His voice alone stops me. I turn around to face him again. “Can I ask what you’re doing here?”

   “In the bathroom?”

   He laughs. “You’re pretty cute, you know that?”

   He keeps calling me cute. I raise an eyebrow. Is he just...messing with me?

   “I meant...” He stares at me, a curious expression on his pretty face. “What are you’re doing at Forty-Second Street Studios? Today.”

   “Um...” I can’t tell him I’m a standby! I decide on a diversion technique. “What are you doing here? Today.” I smile. “Never mind. Don’t tell me. I’m gonna guess you’re a musician. And you play the...guitar? Right?” Much to your parents’ horror—they were hoping you’d go to Yale. At least for undergrad. Then Stanford for law. They shouldn’t worry. There’s still time to whip you into shape.

   “Impressive. You should consider giving psychic readings.” He crosses his arms. “Now back to you.”

   “Me?”

   “Yes,” he says. “The only other person in this bathroom.”

   “Oh. I’m sorta here to, kinda, work on a new musical. It’s my first day. With the cast, I mean.”

   “Your first day, huh?” Once again he runs a hand through his hair, a mess of silky strands whose complete disarray seems to be the root of their charm. I almost wanna ask if I can run my hands through his hair, but I know better. He takes a step closer to me, heating up the small space between us. “You excited to sorta kinda work on a new musical?”

   “Sorta.” I shrug. “It’s Shakespeare. A Romeo and Juliet reimagining. It’s called Roman and Jewel. But this version is a fantasy. After their suicide, they both end up in purgatory and are sentenced to infinite lives on Earth until they can meet up again to, you know, right their wrongs.”

   “A happy Shakespeare. I love it.”

   “You don’t tune in to Shakespeare for happily-ever-after. So don’t worry. There’s still enough angst and drama. Robert Christian Ruiz—he’s the composer. He wrote the book, too. He most definitely captured the heart of the story.”

   “Which is?”

   “Um.” I pause. Jesus, his eyes are so bright and blue that I feel temporarily blinded. “The cycles of love and hate. In order for something good to happen, a lot of bad shit has to happen first. You know. The main theme of the original play.”

   “That is not the main theme.” He laughs. “I think you should reread the play for fresh insight. Try Shakespeare for Dummies.”

   “Excuse me?” I shift my weight from one foot to the other, trying my hardest to play it cool, even though this boy is making my heart race so fast I’m feeling short of breath. And this time it’s not because he’s cute. “I’ve read Romeo and Juliet like fifteen times.”

   “Sixteenth time’s a charm?”

   I glare at him. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

   “I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Pretty Boy laughs again, holding both hands up as if in surrender. “And you’re the perfect Jewel, by the way.”

   “I’m not Jewel.” I shake my head. “I’m a standby for Jewel.” Not that it’s any of his business.

   “You’re an understudy.”

   “My technical term is standby. But yes, that’s my story. I’m just a standby.”

   “Why do I get the feeling there’s a lot more to the story with you?”

   The bathroom door is suddenly pushed open.

   I spin around and gasp. It’s Cinny! Cinny is revealed in all her one-name glory. Holy hell. She looks startled to see us in here. Which. Understandable. Strangely enough, pretty-boy musician doesn’t look like a person should look when a superstar singer enters the bathroom they’re standing in.

   “Hey, Cinny,” he says with a nonchalance that makes my face scrunch up in confusion. “Don’t you knock before you bust into a bathroom?”

   She flips her hair over her shoulder, and I notice she has a splattering of freckles on her nose. I also notice she’s even prettier up close.

   “Why am I not surprised to see you holed up in a bathroom with a girl, Zeppelin Reid?” she declares.

   Wait. What? Zeppelin Reid? This is Zeppelin Reid? This is the boy cast as Roman!

   “Nothing funny going on,” he says. “I saved this girl’s life is all.”

   She looks at me, her expression disbelieving. “He did?”

   “Not. He did not.” Aaaand it’s official. I am in conversation with Cinny. “He nearly killed me, more like it.” I clumsily lurch forward and extend my hand. “By the way. Hello and greetings.” Hello and greetings? The fuck is wrong with me?! “It’s very nice to meet you, Cinny.” I hope I sound mature and professional and not like the hyper superfans she’s probably used to.

   “Oh. Okay.” She eyes me, like maybe I could be some sort of internet stalker who found her way into Forty-Second Street Studios to harass her.

   “Don’t worry. I’m normal. I swear,” I declare.

   “Fun fact...” Zeppelin moves to stand beside me, and I hold back my overwhelming desire to elbow him in his stupid, sexy six-pack. How dare he play some game with me? Pretending he’s a musician? Letting me blab about a show he’s the star of? Imbecile! “She’s suffered through reading Romeo and Juliet fifteen times and still doesn’t get it. Oh, and she’s your cover.”

   “Say what?” I turn to him.

   “Crap. Her technical term is standby.” He adds apologetically, “Call her an understudy and she’ll go off on you.”

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