Chapter 26 - Nadia

I plugged in my hair straightener by the bedroom dresser, and while waiting for it to heat up I looked at my wardrobe. It was a mild night, so I chose one of my dresses with lighter fabric. It was blue with white dogwood flowers all over it, with a waist that could be tied to show off my frame. Andy’s definition of fun could have been a lot of things; if we were going dancing I would want to wear flats. Instead, I chose a pair of strapped heels that would give me a little extra height. I wouldn’t have worn them with Ryan, but I was in no danger of being taller than Andy.
He was waiting downstairs, and looked as sharp as I had seen him. Black slacks, with a soft green polo that accentuated his emerald eyes. He had his hands in his pockets while pacing back and forth in the hall. When he saw me, he gawked.
“You look stunning,” He said.
I reached the bottom of the stairs and did a little twirl. “You clean up nicely yourself.” Now that I had seen him shirtless, it was impossible not to imagine the muscles hiding just under the surface. It made me look at him in an entirely different light. Yeah, it was kind of shallow, but still. He wasn’t just the brains of the house.
Braden and Dorian came out of the kitchen. Dorian put his arm around Braden and pretended like he was getting choked up. “They grow up so fast!”
“Don’t stay out too late,” Braden said in a fatherly tone. “Be home before curfew.”
Dorian suddenly took on a high-pitched, nasal tone. “Your father and I don’t want to ground you, but we will if you do not respect the rules of this house!”
Andy looked embarrassed, but I enjoyed the moment as they watched us grab our coats and leave. I also noticed that he grabbed a black felt bag from the table and put it in his coat pocket. He pretended like nothing had happened.
“So where are you taking me?” I asked outside.
“You’ll see.” He looked at his smart phone. “The taxi will be here any minute.”
“Taxi?” I asked. “We going that far?”
“No, but taking a taxi is more special than the subway. Especially with you dressed so nice.”
I’d never been able to afford a taxi in the city, and it was such a novelty that I actually enjoyed it. Our taxi driver was from Egypt, and drove as aggressively as someone delivering a pregnant woman to the hospital. As we raced and swerved through the city I grabbed hold of Andy’s hand and squeezed it for comfort.
The taxi took us to Midtown, stopping outside of a microbrewery called Hops Fusion. “Hope you like beer,” Andy said as we got out.
“Sorry, I hate it.”
His eyes widened behind his glasses as he looked down at me. I kept a straight face for about three seconds before giggling.
“Silly question alert,” I said. “Of course I like beer. You’re off to a good start.”
The relief on his face was palpable. He was really nervous. To help calm him down, I clutched his arm like he was escorting me on a proper date.
It was a cool place with an industrial feel—lots of exposed ductwork, with the stainless steel brewery equipment visible behind a glass wall on one side. A sign instructed customers to order at the bar and then seat themselves.
“I’ll grab a table while you get drinks,” I said.
“What do you want?”
“Surprise me.”
“You’re inviting me to choose poorly,” Andy said.
I rubbed my hand on his back. “My beer fate is in your hands. Don’t fuck it up.”
Most of the place was already full, but I was able to snag two chairs at the end of one of the long wooden tables. Andy zig-zagged through the room with a wooden tray of beers a few minutes later.
“I couldn’t decide what you would like, so I got a beer flight,” he said as he put the tray down. Six small glasses were arranged in a line, each one a darker color than the last.
“That’s cheating!” I said. “I wanted to see if you had good taste in beers.”
He sat across from me and smiled. “I figured that was a test, so I decided to cheat and fill in all the answers.”
I picked up the first glass and clinked it to his. “I figure that’s worth a B. B+ maybe.”
We sipped on the beers, sharing them so we could each have a taste. There was a blonde ale, a porter, and three red ales that were very sour. Neither of us liked the sours—another point in Andy’s favor—so we play-fought over who got to sip the other drinks.
“It’s a good thing you ordered the flights instead of guessing what I liked,” I teased. “If you had bought me a full pint of sour beer, I would have ended the date immediately.”
“Good thing,” he said, cheeks reddening. He was so bashful that even the most innocent compliment made him blush! I wanted to tell him that someone as handsome and chiseled had no business being so shy, but such a blunt compliment about his looks would probably make his cheeks explode.
Once the beer flights were gone, Andy went back to the bar and returned with two full pints. “A blonde ale for me, and the porter for you.”
I smiled widely. “That’s more like it.”
“And a plate of brisket queso is on the way.”
I blinked. “Brisket queso?”
“Oh man, yeah. You’ve got to try it.”
It ended up being a plate of tortilla chips and a bowl of bubbling orange dip. In the middle of the cheese dip was a huge dollop of guacamole. I picked up a chip and dipped it inside. The cheese had bits of brown beef mixed in.
I didn’t think I was going to like it, but my mouth exploded with flavor. “Holy shit!”
He nodded eagerly. “I know, right?”
We barely talked while wolfing down the brisket queso, and when it was gone Andy went back to order a second plate and more beer. Only when the second plate was half finished did we slow down enough to talk.
“So,” I said, gesturing with a chip. “First date question time. Where are you from?”
He seemed more relaxed after a few beers, which in turn made me relax. He swallowed the chip he was eating and said, “Panama City.”
My mouth hung open. “Like, in Panama? You’re not American?”
Andy shook his head. “Sorry. Panama City, Florida. Out on the panhandle.”
“Ahh, that’s a lot less exotic.”
“Sorry to disappoint. It’s kind of a touristy area. People come down in the spring and summer, and it’s dead in the winter.”
“How long did you live there?”
“All my life,” he admitted. “Until moving to New York.”
“You went to college there?”
“I actually didn’t go to college,” Andy said.
I leaned back in surprise. “Seriously? You?”
“What do you mean?”
“You seem so… academic,” I said, fumbling for the word. “I assumed you went to college and got your master’s degree.”
“Um, thank you?”
“It’s definitely a compliment,” I quickly added. “You’re smart. At least, you seem smart, I guess.” I realized I didn’t really know if he was smart or not, and was going off of the few interactions I’d had with him so far. To move on, I asked, “How did you become a lighting tech?”
“We had seasonal shows for the tourists,” he explained while wiping cheese off his chin with a napkin. “My parents made me get a summer job when I turned 15, so I applied to be a spotlight operator at one of the theaters along the beach strip. I did that for two years before the lighting director offered me an internship with him. He gave me one of his old boards to learn on at home.”
“Boards?”
He gestured. “Have you been back in the tech room?”
“Us dancer peons aren’t allowed back there,” I said with a chagrined smile.
“Okay. Well, the control board is in there. It’s full of dials and buttons and monitors that control all of the lighting.”
“Oh, right!” I replied. “I know what you’re talking about. I bet you wish you were an octopus so you had more arms while the show is going on. It must be stressful doing all of that while we’re on stage.”
He shrugged one slim shoulder. “Actually, we program most of the lighting routines ahead of time. Then during the show all I have to do is hit the button for routine number one, or two, or whichever one I have scheduled. Granted, I still have to pay attention in case there are any delays or problems…”
“Like a spotlight crashing to the stage?” I cut in.
He pursed his lips rather than laughing at my joke. “Usually not that catastrophic.”
I winced. This date was an opportunity for him to avoid thinking about how much of a shitshow The Proposition was, and I was the asshole reminding him about it. Now it was my turn to feel embarrassed.
“So you got an internship,” I said to get us back on track.
Andy nodded again. “Right. Did that for a year before I was essentially a master. Problem was, the lighting director down there was only 40 and had no plans to retire any time soon. Since the job pool was thin, I started looking around online for jobs. There’s a message forum for sound and lighting techs, and that’s where I met Ryan. He told me about a job up here, and…” He spread his hands as if that was that.
“And now you’re the lighting technician for the most prestigious show in New York,” I said.
He raised his glass. “Might as well retire after this, since there’s no room for improvement. What about you?”
“I wasn’t lucky enough to make a friend along the way,” I said. “I came to the city all by myself.”
His emerald eyes softened. “Ah, that’s tough. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t mean it to sound so pathetic. I’ve made friends here,” I said. But it wasn’t exactly true. Robbie was the closest friend I had in the city, and we were really just work associates. I didn’t even have his phone number.
“How’d you get started?” Andy asked. “In theater.”
“My roots are kind of like yours,” I replied. “I grew up in Iowa. The Quad-cities area, on the Mississippi. Wedged smack between half the corn and soy in the mid-west. I was athletic growing up. Kind of a Tom-boy.”
“You?” Andy said doubtfully. “I don’t see it.”
“Oh, it’s the truth,” I maintained. “Which was perfect, because when I got interested in theater in high school I was fit enough to become a dancer. A good one. We didn’t have a lot of shows come through, but we were close enough to see shows in Iowa City whenever the University of Iowa did something. My parents were great, really supportive. For my 18th birthday we took the train into Chicago to see Cats.” I quickly held up a hand. “And yes, I know Dorian and the others think Cats is the worst musical of all time. But it’s my favorite, so don’t say anything.”
Andy cocked his head to the side. “I kind of like Cats. It’s silly, but that’s part of the charm.”
“Right?” I said a little too enthusiastically. “It’s different! It’s not like any other musical! You’re not just saying this to make me feel better, are you?”
“I wouldn’t lie about that,” he said simply. “To clarify: I don’t think it’s the best musical ever written. But it’s not as bad as Dorian and Braden make it out to be.”
“Good enough for me,” I said, toasting the air.
Andy finished his beer and eyed mine. “When you’re done with that, we can head on to the next place.”
I gave a start. “Next place?”