“Nineteen,” I reply absently.
He nods. “Till tomorrow.”
As he walks away, my thoughts go back to Liz. Why didn’t I know about her birthday? I go to check the notice board, and sure enough it’s there. I’m wondering why nobody asked me to sign her card, when Natalia finds me and thrusts the huge card in my face before handing me a pen.
“I’ve been waiting forever for you to finish your meeting. You’re the only one who hasn’t signed.”
“I’m sure Liz would prefer the card without the taint of my signature,” I say wryly, taking the pen from her outstretched hand.
“Oh, the director and the lead hate each other. How original.” She rolls her eyes, making me chuckle as I scrawl my name at the bottom of the page full of messages and signatures and add the simplest message that comes to mind. Cheers.
A few minutes later, on my way to my office, I see Liz locking her dressing room door, the huge card under her arm.
I want to kiss her again.
I want to do more than kiss her.
“I’m just glad we have the day off and I don’t have to see his face for one whole day,” she says to the phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder. “Bliss.”
She turns and sees me, and her eyes widen. My lips lift in a small self-mocking smile, and I give her a mocking salute. She scowls, then walks past me without a word.
On my free days, I usually take the train or a town car to Windbreakers and spend the day with Wilson Hayes and Aunt Betsy, or hang around in my office and have long talks about old shows with Jimmy, the doorman who has worked at the theater since he was a kid, and knows everything that has ever happened on Broadway.
I still have no idea what I’m doing at Dennis McKay’s home.
An older woman lets me in. Inside, the sounds of music contrasts with the silence outside.
Is Liz having a party?
Why the fuck am I here?
What happened to staying the hell away from her?
I walk into the living room, half listening as Fergie spells out the letters of the word glamorous in a soft, breathy voice.
There are a few people around Liz’s age drinking from bedazzled paper cups. In an area of the room clear of furniture, a quartet of girls have formed a line and are dancing to the song.
One of them is Liz.
I stay near the door, watching the choreography, my eyes glued to Liz as she swings her hair, shakes her hips, in perfect step with the other three girls. Soon enough there’s a chant of Liz! Liz! Liz! going around the room. I almost join in. She’s good, a born performer.
The song ends, and the girls collapse into laughter. From where I stand, I can see the slight sheen of perspiration of Liz’s skin. She’s laughing, and even though I’m still unsure what I’m doing here, I’m glad I came, because I love seeing her like this.
She’s mid laugh when she sees me. Her merriment disappears at once, and she straightens.
?
?Aidan!” It’s a girl I recognize from Dennis McKay’s party the other night. Liz’s friend. “I’m Fiona.” She grins at me. “Liz didn’t say you were coming.”
“She didn’t know.”
Her grin widens. “Figures.” She turns to where Liz is still glaring at me and her grin widens even more. “Looks like she’s ecstatic to see you.”
I chuckle. “I know, right?”
Fiona walks away, laughing, and I head over to Liz.
“Happy Birthday.”