A Little Too Much

Chapter Twenty-Five

I WALK OUT of the Pinnacle Creative Management office the next Wednesday evening with two things: 1) an agent, and 2) the certainty that the person I most want to share that news with walked out of my life last week.

I call Jess from the subway. “Hey, guess what!”

She squeals into the phone. “Oh my God, Hilary! Congrats! Pinnacle is huge. You’ve hit the big time!”

I can’t stop the grin. “It does feel a little like hitting the lottery.”

“We’re celebrating tonight. Where do you want to go?”

“Wherever you want, Jess. I have something I need to do, but I’ll be home later.”

“Okay. I’ll have something fabulous planned when you get here.”

I smile again at her enthusiasm. “Thanks, sweetie.”

Ten minutes later, I’m climbing the stairs to Christopher Street. The whole walk from the subway to his apartment, I’m trying to sort out what I’m going to say, but as I step up to his door, I still have nothing. I hesitate with my shaking finger poised at the buzzer.

I haven’t heard a word from him since I let him walk out of my apartment. What I said was cruel . . . and a lie. I don’t blame him for not wanting anything to do with me. Which means I shouldn’t be here.

I press the buzzer.

A minute later, when no one’s answered, I breathe again. Maybe he’s at the youth center. I should go there.

Just to be sure, I press the buzzer one more time.

“It’s Hilary, isn’t it?”

The voice from behind me makes me jump. I spin and find Mrs. Burke and her pug.

“Yeah. Hi.”

Her face goes all sympathetic. “If you’re here for Alessandro, sweetheart, I’m sorry to tell you he’s already gone.”

“Gone,” I repeat as all the blood drains out of my head and stars flash in my eyes.

She nods. “He had a red-eye out of JFK last night. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”

I lift my hand and rub my face. “Um . . . you know, I think he did. I just forgot.” I don’t know why I lie.

“I hoped he might stay for you. St. Veronica’s is going to miss him.”

My erratic heart stalls in my chest. “Why would he stay for me?”

She tilts her head and a knowing little smile curves her lips. “People do things they’d never expect for love, my dear.”

Oh, God. “Um . . . did he happen to mention when he was coming back?”

She tips her head and raises her eyebrows sympathetically. “He’s not, as far as I know. He said his family needed him.”

My heart slams to the ground. “In Corsica?”

She nods.

Just at that moment, everything I wanted to say comes clear in my head. But now it doesn’t matter. I’m too late. He’s gone.

JESS PICKS A dance club we’ve never been to. It’s full of Columbia kids, mostly, shouting over music so loud it’s vibrating into my bones. I’m sweaty from dancing, so I stick to the vinyl as I lean back into the booth and take the last, long swallow of my drink—the second of many, if my plan holds.

I glance at Jess, still on the dance floor. I didn’t tell her that I went to Alessandro’s today because I don’t want her feeling all sorry for me. And pretty soon, it won’t matter. Because my plan is to get totally shit-faced. My plan is to revel in the parts of my life that are really good right now and forget the parts that aren’t.

My plan is to do whatever it takes to forget Alessandro.

“I haven’t seen you here before.”

I look in the direction of the voice and see Mike from my acting group grinning at me from the end of the booth.

“Hi.” I yell over the music.

“Can I?” he asks, gesturing to the empty seat across from me.

“Yeah, sure.”

But instead of sitting on the seat across from me, he slides into the booth next to me.

A second later, Nathan is at the end of the table with a pitcher and a stack of cups. He sets them down, looking a little out of his element, unlike Mike.

“Hey. We missed you last Monday.”

“Yeah. I was busy. Family stuff.” I did go to Mallory’s for dinner, but it was because I was looking for a reason to be out of the city, not because I had to.

“What are you drinking?” he asks, gesturing at my empty glass. “I’ll get you another.”

“Rum and Diet Coke. Thanks.”

He smiles and turns for the bar.

Mike leans in. “You look amazing.”

Jess picked my outfit, a snug black cotton tank, a short green skirt, and, of course, my killer boots. “Thanks.”

“You want to dance?” he asks with a tip of his head toward the dance floor.

“Sure.”

He stands and holds out his hand. I take it and we move through the crowd to a spot at the edge of the dance floor, not too far from Jess. She sees me and grins.

Mike was actually pretty good in our Antigone bit for acting group last month, and I find out he’s not a bad dancer either. The alcohol has definitely hit my bloodstream, because I feel all my wariness drop as I shimmy around him. When he puts his hands on my hips and starts to grind his in rhythm with mine, I don’t push him away. When the song’s over, we head back to the table and Nathan is there with my drink.

“Looks like you worked up a thirst,” he says as I slam it.

I smile at him. “I did. Your turn.” I grab his hand and tow him to the dance floor. He’s not as bold as his friend, and keeps his distance. But I decide he’s cute.

We dance off and on, and Jess floats in and out of our group. The boys keep buying me drinks, and by my fifth rum and Coke, I’ve decided I’m definitely going to sleep with one of them tonight. The question is who. Mike, who is one-night-stand material, or Nathan, who has relationship potential?

Hell. Maybe I’ll sleep with both of them. I’ve never done a ménage à trois before. And as the alcohol flows thicker through my bloodstream by the second, what I’m rapidly deciding is that, more than anything, mindless sex is what I need right now.

I knock back my drink and the three of us head out to the dance floor. Mike dances up behind me, snaking an arm around my waist and pulling me against him. Of course he’d be first to make a move. So, it’s going to be Mike, then. I give Nathan a sympathetic little pout as I lift my arms and weave my fingers behind Mike’s neck.

He lowers his face and skims the tip of his nose along the side of my neck. “You smell so good,” he says, low in my ear.

I spin in his arms, pressing every inch of me against every inch of him, and run my hands over his chest. “I taste better.”

The next second, his lips are crushed against mine, and his tongue is darting through my mouth.

I grind into him as we move to the music, forgetting everything but the feel of his hands and his mouth and his body. I come up for air a few minutes later, gasping for breath. “Come on.” He grins as I grab his hand, towing him past the bathrooms to the back exit. We push through the door into the alley, and I barely notice the cold. Mike spins me and slams my back against the building, kissing me hard. I’m getting the feeling he likes it rough—which means I’ve made the right choice.

His hands are on me—all over me—and when one reaches under my skirt and starts to tug down my thong, a sick feeling rolls up from my gut. I tell myself it’s just the booze, but suddenly, I don’t want to see Mike. I don’t want to know who I’m doing this with.

Mindless sex. Mindless.

I close my eyes as his hand slips between my legs and try to lose myself in the moment . . . and Alessandro’s there, behind my eyelids. At the image, a sucking wound in my chest opens up and I can’t breathe.

Damn him for showing up here. He’s gone, and he’s still ruining my life. But now that he’s here, I can’t make him go away.

And I can’t do this.

I open my eyes and push Mike back. “Listen, Mike . . . I just . . .” I start to tug my underwear up, but Mike grabs my wrist.

“What are you doing?”

“I shouldn’t have come out here.”

He guides my hand to his crotch. “Come on, Irish. You’re not gonna leave me like this, are you?”

I wrench my arm out of his grasp. “Sorry. I’m drunk. This was a mistake.”

He angles himself between me and the door. “Just give me a chance. I promise you won’t think it was a mistake by the time we’re done.” He moves closer, so his body is against mine, and starts on my underwear again.

I push away, feeling panic twist through my gut. “Mike, I’m serious. Stop.”

He grabs me and yanks me to him, kissing me hard.

I try to knee him, but he’s at the wrong angle, so I connect with his thigh. I push against him and his grip on me breaks as I twist.

And the next second, Mike is on the pavement.

I don’t even realize my fist has swung out and connected with his jaw until sharp pain shoots up my arm. But Mike’s split lower lip tells me I definitely did it.

“You bitch,” he whines. “You broke my tooth.”

I hear this last just before the slam of the door, because I’m already gone.

I’VE TEXTED ALESSANDRO at least a hundred times in the last four days, with no response. After the first few, when he didn’t answer my texts, I started calling. It always goes right to voice mail. I try again as I sit on the stoop of Alessandro’s apartment building. When it goes to voice mail, my heart squeezes just a little tighter in my chest.

I know it’s not fair of me to do this. I know after what I said, I should just let him go. But every waking minute, I remember how it felt to let him in, the freedom that came with finally opening myself up to someone and letting myself be me. And every minute I’m asleep, I dream of him in my arms, the weight of his body pressing into me, the things no one else has ever been able to make me feel. I pushed him away when I realize how close he’d gotten—how much of me he saw. I pushed him away because, in that instant, I knew how thoroughly he could destroy me, and I didn’t have enough faith in him to trust he wouldn’t. But every time I look at Henri and see the goodness in him, I know it came from Alessandro. What I’ve started to realize is, some things are worth the risk.

“Alessandro, I know you’re angry, and I know it’s totally unfair of me to expect you to speak to me after what I did and the things I said, but I need to talk to you. Please, if you get this message, call me.”

I disconnect and sit here, staring at the phone, just like I’ve done for countless hours before, as if, through sheer force of will, I can make it ring.

It doesn’t, and finally, I give up waiting. I stand and look over the intercom. There are four apartments on the third floor, where Mrs. Burke got off the elevator that day. I press the button for the first one. After a minute, when no one answers, I push the second.

“Hello?” comes a sharp gravelly voice.

“I’m looking for Mrs. Burke. Is this her apartment?”

“No.”

“I’m really looking for Alessandro Moretti,” I say. “He lived on the fifth floor.”

He hesitates, like he’s thinking about cutting me off. “So why’re you calling Mrs. Burke?”

“I was hoping she might know an address where I could reach him.”

“Why do you want it?”

I breathe out a breath, getting seriously sick of this guy’s questions. “I just do. I’m a friend and I need to get ahold of him.”

“He’s gone,” he growls.

“I know. He’s in Corsica. I just need his address.”

“If you’re a friend, why don’t you have his phone number?”

It’s taking all my restraint not to punch the intercom. “I’ve tried calling and he doesn’t answer.”

“I’d take that as I sign,” he grumbles.

“Forget it,” I say, lifting my hand to the next button.

“I’ve got his address.”

My heart lurches. “You have it?”

“Stay there,” he barks, then the intercom goes dead.

I’m just about to give up and punch the next button when the door opens and a scrawny old guy with a cane comes hobbling out. He waves a piece of paper in my face. “Why should I give this to you?”

I snatch the paper out of his hand without answering. On is it Alessandro’s messy scrawl with an address in Corsica. I spin and start up the sidewalk.

“You can’t take that, honey,” he says to my back.

I turn around.

“I’m the super. He gave me his address to send anything that shows up for him here.” He raises his bushy gray eyebrows at me. “Which I’m thinking might be you. You’re the one, aren’t you?”

I’m just pulling out my phone to type in the info, and I look up at him. “The one?”

“The one who broke the poor guy’s heart.”

That nearly stops my heart. I type in Alessandro’s information and send up a little prayer that it’s not too late to fix this. “Thank you,” I tell him, handing him the paper.

“You’re welcome.” He spins for the door and disappears through it.

When I get home to my apartment, Jess is at rehearsal. I snatch a sheet of paper from the printer tray and a pen from the kitchen junk drawer, and stand at the counter for a long time, just staring at it.

It’s not enough to tell him I need to talk to him. I need to actually say something. And not just anything, but something that matters. Something that might begin to make up for the horrible things I said to him that made him leave.

I close my eyes and try to think of words to describe the feeling of him running through my veins; how much a part of me he is and always has been; how he makes me something more than I ever could be without him. And then I write it all down.

TERRY IS AMAZING. She seems to know everyone on Broadway. She’s booked me for three auditions in the next two weeks. They’re all for secondary parts, and not a single one is in a musical. But, of all of them, this is the one I really want: Don’t Look Back. Off-Broadway, open run.

I’ve submerged myself in preparing for this role. I’ve been over my lines with Jess a bazillion times, and I spent an hour in Terry’s office yesterday while she coached me for this part. And now, I stand on the stage and look out over the theater, feeling calmer than I have any right to feel. I think Jess is rubbing off on me, because I’m trusting the universe. I’ve let go of everything that stood in my way and held me back. I’m dropping my armor and letting myself show.

Quinn would be so proud.

“Whenever you’re ready, Hilary,” the casting director calls to me from the seats below.

I take a deep breath, sink into my character, and give the performance of my life.

WHEN I GET home, Jess and Hailey are curled into the corner of the sofa, watching Safe Haven. Tears are tracking down Jess’s face and Hailey is stroking her hair. But the second Jess sees me, she pops off the couch.

“What’s the story, morning glory?” When she’s nervous, she regresses back to all her quirky Southernness, but this is worse than usual. Even her accent is stronger. Opening night for her show is tomorrow, so she’s been a big ball of nerves this week.

“It went really well. I think I’ve got a shot.”

She squeals and throws her arms around me, nearly knocking me over. “You’ll come out with us after the show tomorrow? Please?”

It’s been three weeks since our last night out and my disaster with Mike. After I told Jess what happened, she was so mad she wanted to knock out more of his teeth, but I talked her down. The worst part? I miss acting group, but there’s no way I’m going back if he’s there.

“You know I’m super excited for you, and I’ll definitely be front and center at opening night, but I don’t think I’m up for a night out just yet, ’kay?”

Her face pulls into a sympathetic squint. “Yeah, okay. We’ll celebrate, just the two of us, when you get that part.”

“Definitely.” I turn to Hailey, who’s standing near the couch. “Thank you so much for hooking me up with Terry. She’s amazing.” I’ve already told her this a thousand times, but I can’t help saying it again.

She smiles. “My pleasure. I’m sure she’ll come through for you.”

“You ready?” Jess asks her, shrugging into her coat.

Hailey grabs her coat and tugs it on.

“Last rehearsal,” Jess says, pretending to both shake in her boots and bite her nails.

“Break a leg.”

She pecks me on the cheek and pulls the door open. “Love ya!”

“Bye,” I say as she closes it behind them.

I settle onto the couch, picking up the remote to start the movie over again. I’m thumbing through the mail during the previews when someone knocks on the door. Jess probably forgot her keys again.

“Coming!” I call, dropping the mail on my coffee table. But when I haul myself up and pull it open, it’s not Jess.

“Alessandro,” I breathe, unable to find air.