CHAPTER 44 (1)
“There’s a problem with your writing,” Ms. Tamayo informs me, looking up from the computer in her office. It’s quiet at Vanier since exams finished yesterday. Only a handful of students staying for the holidays remain, plus a number of the faculty. “What’s that?” I ask. “It’s better than any other student’s I’ve seen. These lyrics you wrote are meaningful and specific.” My shoulders relax. I didn’t realize how much tension I was holding until she said those words. “Thank you.” “I’d like you to help me finish the book for this show. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s a good learning experience. And you should consider auditioning, at the right time.” Excitement surges through me. “I’d love to.” I could be in an off-Broadway show. One I helped write. “But,” she goes on, “I need your commitment. You pulling out of the showcase was shortsighted and foolish.” “I understand. This is my dream. I’ll do whatever it takes to see it through.” “Good.” Her gaze narrows. “On another front, I heard about Mr. Adams’ injury. I’m sorry. He was a tremendous talent.” “Is,” I correct. “He can’t play yet. But he’s still the same person he was.” In the days since Leo’s, I haven’t slept at Tyler’s hotel. I wanted to help him. Wanted him to open up. He did, didn’t he? He said he wished I hadn’t made him believe in something bigger. “Life changes us.” Tamayo’s voice brings me back. “It can happen over years or in an instant. He may never be the same person. But there’s another risk, which is that you might lose yourself in trying to find him.” I want to reject her words, but my throat is too tight to produce sound. “How old are you?” she goes on. “Nineteen.” Her clear eyes crease at the corners. “Life will change you in more ways than you can imagine, good and bad. Now, you have an opportunity. Don’t let that go to waste.” I nod. “Thank you, Ms. Tamayo.” “Emily.” I don’t realize the tear has streaked down my cheek until she holds out the tissue. “Call me Miranda.” On my way out, I make a decision. Timothy and I need to talk. Maybe he’s wrong and maybe I am, but we’re going to figure this out together. The whole subway ride over to Timothy’s hotel, I’m torn between thoughts of him and the opportunity I’ve been given. When I get up to street level at the other end of the line, there’s an incoming call on my phone. “Miss Carlton, this is the financial aid office at Vanier. I know the last time we spoke there wasn’t anything available, but we have new funding that hadn’t been added to our online system. It would cover tuition, plus a stipend.” I pull up in the middle of the street, the backs of my eyes burning. “Miss Carlton? Are you still there?” “Yes, I’m still here.” I swallow. I could stay in school and have this huge opportunity. “Are you interested in applying?” “Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you.” After hanging up, I bound to Timothy’s hotel. When I get to his suite, he’s gone. But a note scrawled on the hotel stationary on the counter says he went to a meeting at the studio. I hope they’re not kicking him out. Although, maybe it would be for the best if he went back to his apartment. He needs to get back into his routine, his life. If this is your last time here, you might as well take advantage. I write a note back to Timothy, then put on my bathing suit, which I’d brought over last week and hadn’t had a chance to use, and head down the elevator. The swimming and fitness area is quiet mid afternoon. As I dive in the deep end, the feel of the water on my body is heaven. I front crawl the length of the space, then back. Again. I put in a dozen laps, then another dozen, until my muscles burn and my head is clear. When I finally lift my head and take off my goggles, pulling myself up with my forearms to rest on the edge of the pool, a pair of shoes fills my vision. I peer up those denim-clad legs, the dress shirt, the towel under one arm. There will never be a day when seeing Timothy Adams doesn’t make me happy. “Hi,” I say, smiling. “How was your meeting?” “Surprising.” He drops the towel on the deck and crouches down. I notice a slip of paper in his hands. “Are they kicking you out of the hotel? We knew it’d happen eventually. I can help you move your stuff home.” I shift forward to take the paper, my damp fingers leaving drops on its surface. “It’s a first-class ticket to London. Leaving tomorrow.” My brain struggles to do the math. When I put the pieces together, they leave me breathless. “He still wants you on the tour.” Timothy grimaces. “I can’t play guitar worth shit. But he wants to capitalize on my fifteen minutes of fame after the video from Jacob’s vlog as the front man of some manufactured band.” “By performing music,” I emphasize. “This is a good thing.” He turns away. I set the ticket carefully on a dry part of the deck before hoisting myself out. I wrap the towel around myself as I straighten, grabbing the ticket again. I follow him as he paces the length of the pool. “So, you’re okay with it?” he tosses over a shoulder. “You want me to live out of busses and planes with a bunch of dudes. To flirt with women who think more about what it’d be like to fuck me than the music I’m making.” Jealousy rises up, and I shove it back down. “That’s not what this is.” If he goes on tour, it won’t matter if he plays guitar or sings or juggles on stage with his feet. He’ll make it work.
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