Читать книгу Some Days Are Diamonds - Stephanie Surma - Страница 3

The Theatre On Main had always been Elle’s home. From the moment she’d stepped into it, a fresh-faced college kid with big dreams and big shoes to fill, she’d felt a bone deep, soul filling sense of belonging.

Perhaps that was why she spent all of her time here, Elle thought, staring out at the empty seats and tables of the dinner theater. Her little two bedroom apartment hadn’t felt like home in months; not since the fighting had started with her roommate. At least work offered some stability. Besides, the people here were her family— the chef in the back, the waitstaff, the performers, the other techs. Greg, the resident director, had been like a father to her, inviting her to work here before she’d even finished college.

Elle sighed and dropped her Kingdom Hearts backpack to the floor of the tech booth, kicking it under the sound table. Gina had announced that she was leaving almost two weeks ago, which Elle was still pretending not to feel relieved about. It left Elle in need of a roommate, and she was running out of time to find one. Her lease was up the second week of August, and July was nearly over. She didn’t even have anyone in mind. She couldn’t afford the place on her own, and it was too late to cancel the lease. All around, it was an impending disaster.

“You look mopey,” said a friendly voice behind her. Elle’s tech booth partner-in-crime shuffled in, dropped his saddle bag beside hers, then wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “We’re only three days into this run. You shouldn’t be moping yet. Why are you moping already?”

Elle returned his hug and squeezed. “Hi, Ben.” She sighed as he moved away to sit on his rolling chair. He was a sweet kid; a little mousy, maybe a little overweight, with thinning brown hair and beetle black eyes behind thick square glasses. Still, he gave the best hugs, and sometimes brought her tacos, and really, he was just a nice person.

“Hi, Elle.” Ben grabbed the bin of microphone packs out from under the sound table and slid it her way. “So again, why are you mopey? Usually you’re singing by this point.”

“I’m not mopey.” Just to prove it, she started to hum the title song of the show—Oklahoma. It only lasted a few seconds before she trailed off, sighed, and ran a hand over her face.

“You are, but I’ll let that little lie slide.” Ben took to switching on the stage lights from the control panel. “Is it your roommate? Is she still being a bi—”

“Antagonistic, ” Elle cut him off. Even if Gina was being horrible, it wasn’t fair to talk shit about her.

“Right,” Ben said, one eyebrow hiked up over his glasses. “That.”

The mic packs needed new batteries before every show, so Elle hopped up onto her stool and popped the back off the first one. It was a soothing, familiar routine, taking out the old batteries, putting in new, and closing the pack up again. “It’s fine. I just…”don’t want to go home, Elle thought, but she couldn’t say that aloud. Ben was great, but on a list of things he didn’t need to know, that qualified.

“It’s a lot to put up with.” Ben jiggled open the top drawer of the filing cabinet under the table and pulled out two tootsie pops. “Want one?”

Elle smirked. Ben would solve any problem with candy, if it was up to him. “No, thanks.”

“Come on, you can crunch on it and pretend it’s your roommate’s head.”

“Are you two talking about the banshee Elle lives with?” Despite the scathing tone, Elle found herself smiling as her best friend came in, filling the tiny tech booth to bursting. Logan was a tall beanpole of a man, with copper hair that stood in tufts from his square head, and a sharply hooked nose. He planted a loud kiss on her cheek which brought giggles up her throat like soda bubbles.

“Hi, Log—oof! ” His enthusiastic greeting nearly knocked her over, and her stool swayed underneath her. Ben steadied it, calm as ever, with one foot pressed against the seat of the stool, snorting as Logan proceeded to squeeze Elle in a rib crushing hug.

Logan grabbed Elle’s face and squished it between his hands. “You tell Gina she can come talk to me, personally, about whatever she’s been on you about, so that I can tell her to shove it up her ass.” He narrowed his eyes and scrutinized her face, no doubt noting the exhaustion she was wearing underneath her eyes like designer bags. “What was it this time, Doll?”

“Oh, god,” Elle groaned, residual laughter fluttering out of her throat. She took Logan’s hands in her own, squeezing them before getting back to her mic packs. “Spin a wheel and throw a dart. I think it was the trash last week.”

“Has she ever taken the trash out?” Logan demanded.

“She should take herself out,” Ben muttered behind Elle.

She reached back and swatted his arm. “Be nice.”

With a snort, Ben said, “Absolutely not. If she’s gonna be a nuisance over stupid shit—”

“I just forgot what day it was,” Elle insisted, trying to focus on what her hands were doing. Open pack, old batteries out, new batteries in, close pack. Rinse and repeat. “Apparently yelling at me was more important than just taking it out herself.” And the fight that had ensued had been long and grueling, Gina’s words still ringing in her ears. Even now, it soured her mood. Elle closed her mic pack with a little more force than necessary and winced at the sharp crack of plastic against plastic. “I think it was the microwave a few days before that.” The rest of the sentence got caught somewhere between Elle’s brain and tongue, coming out strained. “The dishes were what started it.”

Logan’s hand fell gently onto her shoulder, and squeezed.

“What, does she have a kitchen fetish?” Ben joked, sneering. Elle’s laugh sounded forced even to her own ears.

“Hey, guys.” Just outside the door, Logan’s roommate, John, waved.

Elle waved back, glad for the brief distraction from the conversation. “Hey, John!”

At over six feet tall, trying to come into the room would have ended in tragedy and possibly broken limbs. There was just too much of him, and not enough room , which he’d learned pretty quickly when Elle had nagged at him during the last show they’d done together. He stopped outside the booth window, instead, running a hand through his golden hair. “Where am I, Elle?”

“You’re in for Curly, tonight. Davy’s out today.”

“Ten-four.” And with that, John strolled away into the dining area toward the door to the back rooms. He looked almost comically large amidst the small square tables with their plain white tablecloths, the matching wooden chairs. It was a wonder he never tripped over them.

“Does she ever consider maybe just doing things,” Ben asked as John slipped from view, “instead of bitching at you?”

Probably not. Elle shrugged, dropping her eyes to her mic packs. “I don’t know.”

Two batteries fell into her trembling hand, and then dropped right out of it to the floor. Elle just sighed before leaning down to pick them up.

“So, when is she leaving?” Ben continued, testing each row of lights one by one from his lighting board.

“I don’t know.” When she tried to close the pack, it stuck. Frowning, she opened it back up, and—oh. She’d put the batteries in backwards. God .

Elle closed her eyes. She was better than this. She was actually good at her job. Get a grip, Elle.

Logan scoffed. “Come on, Ben, even Gina probably doesn’t know when she’s moving out. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to live with her, let alone letting her move in on short notice. Where would she even go?”

“I don’t know.” Elle snapped, almost before he had finished speaking. She didn’t want to talk about this. She wanted to be left alone.

No. No, she didn’t.

Elle dropped the mic pack to the table and put her head in her hands.

“Oh, Honey.” Logan’s arms came around her shoulders. His weight against her side grounded her, giving her something to focus on. She clutched the arm he wrapped around her and sighed, leaning her head against his chest. “I’m sorry for pushing. I know you’re stressed.”

“It’s fine,” Elle said. Really, it was. “I just want to know what’s going on. She’s given me nothing to go on, not when she’s leaving, not how. She doesn’t have a car, and she hasn’t asked me to help her—”

“I doubt she will,” Logan said. “She’s being a bitch on purpose, Doll.”

“She needs to sort herself out,” Ben added.

Logan patted her arm. “It’s not your responsibility to anticipate her needs.”

“I know.” Elle combed her fingers through her hair, nails scraping against her scalp. “I know that. I do. I just feel so…”

“Guilty.” Logan nodded, understanding in a way that only her best friend could. “It’s how she wants you to feel.” He stepped away, and placed the mic pack back into her hands.

Elle steadied herself with a breath, fixed the backwards batteries, and moved onto the next pack. Talking with Logan usually calmed her down, but right now, she really wished he— and Ben, and anyone else who even thought about talking to her about Gina— would just drop it.

“Have you thought about moving out?” Logan asked at length, just when she thought he’d decided to let the subject go.

Damn. “I can’t,” Elle said, finishing with the battery packs. “It’s too late to break the lease without getting a fine.” She tried to open the drawer under the counter, the one with the condoms they used to protect the mic packs from sweaty performers. It stuck, and she gave it a frustrated wiggle, popping it open with a horrible scraping sound of wood against metal. Pretty much the sound her brain made whenever she talked about Gina. Ugh.

“Well, you could pull a fast one on her and just leave.”

Elle turned to Logan with open mouthed horror on her face. “I absolutely could not do that, unless I want to see Gina in court—”

“Nevermind!” Logan held up his hands in surrender at her look, taking a step back.

“Yeah, nevermind,” Elle said, scooping up a handful of condom packets and dropping them beside the bin of mic packs. “Trying to get me thrown in jail. Some friend.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to explore all of your options.”

Elle threw a condom wrapper at him. “Don’t you have ten layers of makeup to put on?”

“Sadly, I do,” Logan said, and with another noisy kiss to her cheek, he sailed out of the room. He was halfway to the stage when he called over his shoulder, “See you at warm ups, Doll!”

Elle shook her head and started to test mics, plugging a wire in, turning the battery pack on, and then listening to the snap of her fingers as it rang through the auditorium.

“So if Gina’s—”

“Ben,” Elle said softly, closing her eyes. This was all too much. She felt tired, all of the sudden; like she hadn’t slept in weeks. “I really don’t want to talk about it, right now.”

Ben patted her thigh. “You’ll be okay,” he said, in that firm, confident tone he used on her sometimes. Anytime her anxiety hit, it seemed, he knew to pull the no nonsense voice out. “You’re so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. Things will turn out alright.”

Elle met his warm, dark eyes. He meant it. A little bewildered, she gave him a grateful smile, and then focused on her mics.

People slowly trickled in, filling the space with life. The servers, in their black dress shirts and slacks, began cleaning and setting their linen draped tables with their shiny wooden chairs. Old-fashioned lanterns sprang to life on the tables, as did the enormous chandelier above, casting the entire place in a homey yellow glow. People called good-naturedly from the balcony— nicknamed the Shelf, though Elle had never asked why— down to those on the main floor. Dishes and silverware clattered onto tables beside cheerful blue checkered napkins. Chef Rossi, the head chef, came in to greet them in his booming, jovial way, and several minutes later, swung by the booth with snacks from the kitchen, which Elle and Ben eagerly attacked. Performers and stagehands waved as they crossed through the dining room to the green room backstage, some warming up vocally as they went, others chattering amongst themselves, and a few sneaking treats from the front window of the tech booth, to amused but weak protestations. Before long, the whole auditorium was alive with movement and sound.

“Mornin', y’all!” A young woman stopped at the tech booth, her shiny black hair in two loose French braids down the sides of her head. She dropped her bag on the ground beside her and propped her folded arms onto the edge of the booth window, the picture of effortless grace.

“Morning, Haley,” Elle said, offering her a muffin from the snack tray. “How goes?”

“Movin' right along,” Haley said, with her pretty New Orleans accent, grinning. “I’m late, of course.”

“Not just yet,” Elle told her, eyeing the clock on the wall above the booth window. “You will be if you don’t get a move on.”

“Has your terrible tramp left yet?” Haley asked around a mouthful of muffin, making no move to leave. At least she looked mostly put together— her pretty, oval face already made up, her hair done, and no doubt, the bloomers and corset from her costume already on beneath her sweatpants and over-sized tee shirt.

Elle laughed despite herself at the nickname, though she really hoped they could keep this conversation short . “Gina? No, not yet.”

With a nod, Haley straightened up from the booth, pointing a finger at Elle with the same hand holding her muffin. “Sugar, you tell me the minute she’s gone,” she insisted, already scooping up her bag again. “I’ll bring over the whiskey and the beignets, and we’ll celebrate.”

God, Elle thought, past a bittersweet tightness in her chest. Between Haley, Ben, and Logan, she had enough love and strength to get through anything. “I will.”

Haley blew a kiss as she scooted her way past the cluster of servers having their pre-show meeting. Something heavy settled in Elle’s chest. She really didn’t want to think about her roommate, but everyone else seemed to want to talk about her.

“I’ve got to get these mics up to the green room,” Elle said, at about ten minutes to warm ups, propping the bin of mic packs under her arm as she stood up.

Ben looked up from whatever game he was playing on his phone, a bit dazed, like he hadn’t even realized what time it was. “Uh?”

Elle jiggled the bin under her arm a little, mics rattling around inside it. “Mics. Green room.” Ben’s expression cleared, and he nodded. “Try to save some of that fruit for me, would you?” She teased. Ben just rolled his eyes at her, picking up a rather large strawberry and stuffing the whole thing into his mouth at once. He immediately choked, coughing. She could see the regret on his face as soon as he realized his mistake. She was so busy laughing at him, she didn’t look where she was going— not that anyone ever came to the booth, anyway. It was the only feasible explanation for why she didn’t expect to find the giant wall of person she promptly plowed into.

“Oh!” Startled, she backtracked, her head craning up— up, up, to meet sharp jade eyes. There had always been an underlying sharpness to John, not just in his eyes, but to the rest of him, as well. Something about him had always struck her as slightly intimidating. It didn’t help that he was so much larger than her, large enough to fill the tiny tech booth to bursting, to move the air until it felt like there wasn’t enough left for her to breathe.

That wasn’t to say he wasn’t attractive. Elle would be lying if she said she hadn’t noticed the clean cut of his jaw, or the leanness of his muscles. Which, in the tank top he wore with the neckline cut nearly to his naval, there were a lot to look at.

“John! Hi.” She gave him her usual, professionally friendly smile, the one she kept solidly in place whenever she was at work. “Come for your mic?”

John’s eyes dropped to the bin in her arms, then rose back to hers. “Logan told me you’ve been having roommate troubles.”

Of course he did, Elle thought wryly. Logan told John everything, the same way she told Logan everything, like a lifelong game of telephone. They’d all been friends for years, anyway, but it still felt weird— John was more of an extension of Logan than anything; his college buddy, his roommate. It had always been like that between the three of them; whenever the lines blurred, it never failed to throw her for a loop.

“It’s been a time,” She said, hoping her smile didn’t look too forced. “Would you like to tape your mic yourself, or—”

“You know, if you need a place to get away, you’re always welcome to come to our place,” John continued, then blinked at her, apparently realizing that he’d spoken over her. “Sorry— I mean, yeah, you can tape me up. That’s fine. Thanks.”

“Right,” Elle muttered, setting the bin back onto the sound table. In her peripherals, Ben was determinedly staring at his phone, pretending to be invisible. “I appreciate the offer,” she said to John, rooting through until she found his mic pack, “but for now I’m just looking for a roommate to take over Gina’s part of the lease.” She finally found his mic— god, why did so many people have mics in this show?— and pulled it out.

“Ah, she’s leaving?” John took the proffered pack from her hands and unwound the mic wire, clipping the battery case into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Yeah,” Elle said flatly. “I have no idea when she’s leaving, or where she’s going, so that’s fun.” She snapped off two pieces of mic tape, then hesitated at the sight of John’s back. “Kneel down, you monster, I’m half your height.”

“Oh, right—” Like a half-hearted attempt at origami, John knelt down on one knee, folding himself awkwardly into the cramped space. Somehow, he seemed to fill it up even more, like this. “Sorry.”

“After all these years of towering over me,” Elle teased. “It’s like you forget.”

John chuckled while she set up his mic wire, handing him one strip of tape to put on his cheek, while she taped up his neck. “Hey, it’s not my fault you’re vertically challenged.”

“Or that you’re part tree,” Elle countered, grinning despite herself.“Really, though, thank you for the offer. It’s nice to know I have somewhere to go, if things get dicey.”

“Anytime.” John stood (and stood, and stood) and then faced her again, giving her a half smile. It would have been condescending, if she didn’t know it was just how his face looked. “I mean it. You let me or Logan know if anything changes, or you just need to get away.”

Honestly, even if the offer had come from Logan— her very best friend, since forever—she’d have probably said no. The thought of imposing on someone so nice, and in Logan’s case, so important to her, made her skin crawl. Not that she could tell John that, though. So instead, she smiled up at him again, and said, “I will. Thanks.”

John gestured to the mic bin. “Want me to take those back? I’m headed that way, anyway.”

“Oh—” Elle tucked the mic tape into the empty slot left by his mic, and then handed him the bin. “That would be great! Thank you.”

The bin seemed so much smaller in John’s arm than it had in hers. With one last salute to Ben, he turned to go. “Later, guys.”

“Have a good show!” John waved at her without looking back, smiled and nodded politely at a few of the waitresses who stopped to bat their eyelashes at him, and then disappeared through the door beside the stage.

“That was nice of him,” Ben said, the first real words out of his mouth in the past hour.

“Yeah,” Elle agreed. It was nice. Even if it meant Logan was running his mouth back in the dressing room. She’d have to talk to him about that.

“He’s a nice dude,” Ben continued.

Elle nodded without really looking at him, giving the sound board another quick once-over to make sure everything was in working order.

“I think Logan’s right,” Ben added. “You should ditch Gina and move in with them—”

“Ben,” Elle sighed, not bothering to look up, “I will kill you.”

***

Something was off , when Elle got back to her apartment that night. She could sense the tension the second she opened the front door. It was like a friction in the air, charged up and ready to— to— to do something . Something big.

Her stomach dropped.

It took Elle at least thirty seconds to convince herself to step through the door and close it behind her. All the lights in the front room were on. Boxes were stacked neatly by the door, taped shut and labeled kitchen, living room, and—

Oh.

Oh, no.

Elle— she really should have seen this coming, shouldn’t she?

“Gina?” There was no response, which— fair. Elle wouldn’t want to be around for this either, if she had the option. “Gina?” She tried again, poking her head into the master suite with a polite double-knock on the half-open door. Gina’s cat, Bast, raised her head from her perch on Gina’s unmade bed, and— honestly, it was a wonder anyone could live in the amount of trash littering the entire floor, and the dirty clothing, and just… everything else going on in there. Which was a lot .

Still no answer. Elle swallowed and backtracked, looking around for some sort of sign of life, of something to explain what was going on. There was nothing to go on, here, except the empty solarium that had previously held all of her sewing stuff, where only her sewing table and its chair stood now, and the notably empty kitchen. Elle couldn’t decide if she was relieved or not by the fact that all of her stuff had clearly been packed away— and, she noted, a few things that hadn’t been hers, though that wasn’t really an inconvenience.

Nevertheless. Nothing to go on out here. Resigned, Elle opened her own bedroom door.

Her heart sank down to join her stomach at her feet.

Flat boxes lay in a haphazard stack on her neatly made bed. On top of them was a sheet of paper, on which Elle could make out Gina’s impossible, cramped handwriting.

Elle,

I’ve decided to keep the apartment. I have a new roommate lined up. She gets here in a few days. I want to clean this room before she gets here. Please be out with your stuff by Thursday. I’ll be in Michigan until then. Everything of yours from our shared spaces has been wrapped and packed for you, and there should be enough boxes here for the rest of your stuff.

It was too difficult for me to find a place to live within my price range on such short notice. Seeing as you’re financially better off than me, and have parents who will actually send you money, I’m sure you’ll have better luck. I hope you understand.

Good luck,

Gina.

P.s. Please feed the cat while I’m gone. You can leave the keys with the front office when you’re all moved out.

It took… an embarrassing amount of time, really, for Elle to read through the note. Her hand was shaking so violently that she could barely track the words. Halfway through, she ended up having to stop and rub her eyes, telling herself firmly that crying could wait, she just had to think , to plot out all the things she had to do— wash all of her clothing, pack it up. Wrap and pack all of her knickknacks and pictures, box up her books, her linens, her bathroom—

The first sob came as a surprise. The second, less so. Before she could stop it, Elle found herself openly weeping, standing in the middle of her bedroom with fat, hot tears rolling down her face.

There was too much to sort through at once. Too much to do . And there, underneath all of the panic and shock, was a horrible, boiling anger, welling up in her chest until she could barely breathe. All because Gina decided it was too hard to find a new place.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself, forcing herself to breathe. Her nose was so stuffed up it was nearly impossible. “Okay. I can…” She could do this. She could keep it together long enough to get her shit together before Gina got back from Michigan. Today was Sunday. She had to be out by Thursday. She had three whole days to get her stuff together and get out.

Get out.

God, where would she even go? And on such short notice? Her Mom lived up in Pennsylvania, she hadn’t seen her dad in person since her college graduation and didn’t intend to, her brother… She loved him to pieces, but she didn’t want to live with him and his weird, chain smoking roommates. Honestly, she could probably sleep in the tech booth, or the costume room in the back of the theater. Not like anyone would expect to find her anywhere else, she basically already lived there…

John’s words sprang into her mind so suddenly and vividly, she actually gasped, the sound shaky and loud in the empty apartment.

You let me or Logan know if anything changes.

Her phone all but lived in her left pocket, which was probably not healthy, but at a time like this, she found she didn’t really care. Her hands were still shaking, making it twice as hard to unlock her phone and pull up Logan’s name in her contacts. Except no, Logan had a date tonight. It was bad enough she was about to ask if she could mooch a place to live off of him, let alone interrupting whatever the two of them were in the middle of to do so. Besides, it had been John’s offer. Technically.

She switched to John’s contact info, and before she could worry her way out of it, she pressed call.

The sheer stupidity of her life’s choices hit her before it even rang. She couldn’t— she couldn’t just move in, in three days, with her best friend and his roommate. God, what would they think? Her roommate was kicking her out. They’d probably ask why. Logan already basically knew. They’d realize she was a garbage roommate. They’d ask her to leave. They wouldn’t even let her move in. They’d laugh in her face. They’d realize who she really was as a person, and they’d hate her for it—

John picked up on the second ring, just as Elle felt herself tip from shock and anger into crippling panic. “Elle? Are you okay?”

“I’m—” She’d been planning to say fine, but her voice sounded so hysterical to her own ears that she stopped herself before the lie could even come out. She sucked in another sharp breath as her throat began to close up.

In the background, she could hear more masculine voices; first Logan’s, with a noticeably alarmed pitch, saying her name, and beyond his, the gentler, more confused voice of his boyfriend, Tyler, saying something indecipherable. John’s voice went muffled as he shushed them.

God, this was ridiculous. She should have just gotten a hotel until she could find an apartment of her own, instead of expecting her friends to—

“Elle?”

Elle sucked in a shuddering breath. She didn’t really have many options, right now. Throat tight, she swallowed, and then choked out the only words she could come up with.

“Is that offer still on the table?”