Play Me (20 page)

“Look.”
Dakota came to stand in front of me, her arms crossed. “This
sucks. It really does. But you have a staff that is waiting to see
how you react to this. You need to show them that it doesn’t
matter.”

“But it does
matter,” I insisted, even though my rage was beginning to
subside.

“It only matters
if you let it,” Dakota argued. “If you act like this is
nothing, that this is just another day, then everyone in that kitchen
will do the same.”

“I don’t
know if I can do that,” I admitted.

“Yes you can.”
Dakota patted me on the shoulder. “Just get through the day and
I promise, you and I will go out and get shitfaced as soon as the
night is over.”

And Dakota lived up to
that promise. By my fourth tequila shot, I was feeling a lot less
stressed. I could also feel my legs a whole lot less. And my lips.
Were my ears buzzing too?

“There’s
got to be a silver lining to this.” Dakota was half slumped
across the bar, her hand still wrapped around the tequila bottle.

I reached out and took
it from her, refilling my shot glass, intending to sip it this time.
But the moment I brought it to my lips, I completely forgot my plan
and downed the whole thing in one swallow. It burned but it burned
good.

“Not everything
has a silver lining,” I informed her. “Sometimes it just
has a shit lining.”

Dakota let out a
sputtering laugh and then put her head down on the bar.

“Shit lining,”
she mumbled into the wood.

But maybe she was
right. My drunk brain started grasping at something. If the
restaurant got a bad review, if I got a bad review, maybe there was
some good there? But how was that possible? I tried to remember what
Matt fuckhead Metcalf had said about my cooking. Unoriginal. Well,
yeah. Because it wasn’t original. It was Patricia’s
recipes. I was just copying them. Just doing them without her.
Because that’s what the diners wanted. What the owner wanted.
But the owner hadn’t been too happy with the reviews either. So
what if we did something about it.

“Dakota.” I
reached over the bar and shook her. “Dakota.”

“Huh?” She
rolled her head to the side and looked at me.

“I found the
silver lining,” I told her, though my tongue felt really thick
in my mouth. Was the bar spinning?

“Shit lining,”
Dakota muttered and put her head back down.

“Listen to me.”
I got up and came around to her side. “Metcalf didn’t
like that we were just doing Patricia’s recipes, that we
weren’t doing something new. So maybe now I can finally do my
own menu. Show everyone that I can do more than just repeat what the
last head chef did.” Suddenly my angry drunk had become an
inspired drunk. I waved down the bartender.

“Can I have some
napkins and a pen?” I asked. “And another bottle of
tequila?”

A few hours later,
after pouring Dakota in a cab, my pockets full of napkins covered in
my scribbled ideas for new menus, I stumbled home, stumbled up the
stairs, and stumbled into my bed. The apartment seemed different for
some reason. Like something was missing. But I could barely get my
shoes off, let alone try to figure out what wasn’t there. Did I
even know where my phone was? Oh yeah, in my pocket. I pulled it out
and peered at the black screen. Nothing happened, even when I pushed
the buttons. Oh. Maybe it was dead? Had I forgotten to charge it that
afternoon? Was that what I was forgetting?

But my brain was
already curled up under the covers, so I pulled back my blankets and
crawled in—shoes and all. Whatever I had forgotten could
probably wait until the morning.

Ella

Jake had promised to
call. I fell asleep around four a.m., but I didn’t sleep
deeply. Part of me was still listening for the phone to ring or for
his footsteps in the hallway. I had sent him half a dozen texts when
I hadn’t heard from him after the restaurant closed. When I
woke up the next morning and saw that there were no messages from him
on my phone, I became annoyed. When I called and it went straight to
voicemail, I started to get worried.

I tried looking out my
window up into his apartment but I couldn’t see anything, just
his ceiling through his open curtains. For a moment I thought about
going up and knocking on his door, but it was still early and Mark
was due any moment now.

Even though the last
thing I wanted right now was to practice with Mark, I knew that I
couldn’t reschedule. He had been hounding me nonstop since the
previous round of the competition, and I got the sense that he
actually thought I had a chance of winning. Nice of him to finally
gain confidence in me.

Of course, if I won,
that would look good for him, so his interest in my success was
completely tied to his own. One last rehearsal with him couldn’t
hurt, but I had refused to go to his rehearsal space, insisting he
come here, knowing he would hate that.

The front door buzzed.
If anything, Mark was punctual. I sighed, smoothed my hair back, and
buzzed him into the building.

“You’re not
focusing.” Mark ran his hand through his hair again. He seemed
to be pulling out quite a few strands today. He was right—I was
distracted by Jake’s silence.

I kept glancing at my
phone but there had been no calls, no texts.

“I’m
sorry.” Mark leaned over the piano and snatched my phone from
the surface. “Am I interrupting you?”

I tried to grab it
back, but he was already scrolling through my text messages. His eyes
widened, probably at some of the more racy messages Jake had sent me.
They were tame compared to what he said when we were together, but
far more intense than anything Mark had said to me during the entire
span of our relationship.

“Those are
private.” I was horrified that Mark was reading something so
personal. Something that he had no business seeing.

“Well, now I see
why your playing has suffered,” Mark said snidely as I snatched
my phone back. “You’re lucky the judges are so lenient
this year.”

“You are such a
jerk,” I muttered, shoving my phone into my pocket.

“Excuse me?”
Mark looked shocked. “See, this is exactly why we broke up. You
are clearly too immature to deal with the pressures of being a
professional musician.”

“No.” I
stood, pushing back from the piano, not even minding that the bench
toppled over behind me. The crash it made barely registered as I
strode towards Mark. “We didn’t break up because I’m
immature, but because you’re not a very nice person and you
definitely weren’t a nice boyfriend. And don’t forget—I
broke up with YOU.” I shoved my finger into his chest.

It felt incredible to
say all that out loud. Mark looked as if I had slapped him across the
face, but then his face twisted into an ugly sneer as he swatted my
hand away.

“Oh, and this
Jake guy is a better choice?” He let out a harsh laugh,
stepping back. “Wake up, Ella, this guy is just using you for
sex. He has no interest in your personality or your
talent
.”
Mark put a nasty emphasis on that last word. “He just wants to
sleep with you. And when he’s tired of that, he’ll
leave.”

“Get out,”
I shouted at him, my face growing red. “Get out of my
apartment.”

“Fine,”
Mark fumbled with his coat, stepping away from my rage. “But
you know I’m right. Sit around and wait for him to call, but he
won’t. Look at your phone, Ella, he’s already lost
interest.”

“Fuck you, Mark,”
I managed, though my throat felt like it was closing up.

“Grow up, Ella,”
Mark said, and barely had time to duck as I threw my music at him.
The folder burst against the door, sheets of paper scattering across
the floor. He stared at them with shock. “You’re insane.”

“Get out,”
I ordered, the room spinning. I felt faint and that familiar prickly
feeling rose on the back of my neck. I barely noticed the door
closing as Mark made a hasty exit.

I sunk to the floor, my
skin ice cold, my heart thundering out of control.

I told myself Mark was
wrong. It was okay that Jake hadn’t called. He said he would,
but we weren’t in a relationship. We hadn’t talked about
what we were, if anything, to each other. No promises had been made.
Maybe this was what he did. My hands began to shake as the panic
attack took over. Was this what he did? Was all this just casual fun
for him?

Oh god. I felt sick, my
stomach heaving. I was starting to develop feelings for him. Real,
serious feelings. Love-like feelings. What if he wasn’t even
looking for a relationship? What if he thought we were just doing
some sort of friends-with-benefits thing? And when he said he would
call and didn’t, that was just his way of ending things?

The panic overwhelmed
me and the only thing I could do was curl into a ball on the floor
and pray that it would pass.

Jake

I felt like shit. Death
to tequila, I thought as sunlight slapped me in the face. What was I
thinking, drowning my frustration in liquor? I wasn’t a kid
anymore. I didn’t have the fortitude for this kind of bullshit
temper tantrum.

Through the thin
apartment walls, I heard someone yelling and then the thud of
something being thrown. What was going on? I reached across the bed,
searching for Ella, but found nothing but sheets. I then realized I
was still fully dressed, including my shoes.

What the fuck?

I pulled back the
blankets, and found that my clothes were wrinkled and smelled like
bar smoke and tequila, both of which made my stomach roll. Somehow, I
kept from puking as I sat up.

What time was it? I
groped around for my phone before finding it in my pocket. The screen
was black. Dead. How long had it been dead for?

Ella.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

I had told her I would
call last night. Obviously that hadn’t happened. Somewhere
between the review from Matt fuckhead Metcalf and Dakota and I
drinking ourselves into oblivion, I had totally forgotten about Ella.
I had forgotten about everything, in fact. I couldn’t remember
the last time I had gotten so drunk, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t
going to be drinking tequila any time soon.

I rolled out of bed, my
head aching as if I had spent the night slamming a rock against it. I
was barely able to get myself upright; the floor seemed to be
shifting beneath my feet, my stomach and head all incredibly pissed
at me for getting out of bed at all.

Even though I was sure
I looked as horrible as I smelled, I knew I had to get downstairs.
Had the yelling come from her apartment? She was usually the only
other person in the building home at this time. Was she in trouble?

The fear that something
had happened to her was enough to get me out the door and down the
stairs. I got to her door, adrenaline now propelling me. I banged my
fist on the door, my own head hating me more and more. I ignored the
pain and banged again.

“Ella!” I
called through the door. “Ella, are you okay?”

I reached for the
doorknob, prepared to break through the door if I had to. Thankfully
it was open.

“Ella?”

There was sheet music
all over the floor.

I opened the door wider
and saw Ella curled up in a ball in the middle of the floor.

My heart dropped to my
knees.

“Ella,” I
rushed over to her, kneeling beside her. She was shaking, her skin
clammy, but she looked unharmed.

Finally she lifted her
head. I let out a whoosh of air.

“What happened?”

“Jake?” her
eyes were round, her face pale.

“Are you okay?”

She sat up. “I’m
fine.” Her expression went from scared to withdrawn in an
instant. Color began to return to her face. I reached out for her,
but she wrenched her arm away.

“You look
terrible.” She wrinkled up her nose. “Are you drunk?”

“I’m hung
over as fuck,” I told her. “What happened here? Did
someone break in to the apartment?”

She stood, still a
little shaky on her feet. “No one broke in.” Ella began
gathering music from the floor. She wouldn’t look at me. “Mark
was here.”

Anger surged inside me.
Mark? That fucking prick.

“Did he do this?”
I demanded, pointing at the music.

“No.” Ella
collected the music sheets and placed them on top of the piano. “I
did.”

“You did?”
The adrenaline had faded and my head was back to feeling like someone
was standing on it. I was confused. Ella had thrown the music?

I clenched my fists.
“Did he try something?” Jealousy rose in my throat—an
unfamiliar feeling. Clearly I was not okay with this Mark guy hanging
around Ella. Especially if this is what it resulted in. Though I
still wasn’t exactly sure what “this” was.

“He didn’t
try anything.” Ella’s voice was flat.

“Good,” I
said. “I don’t want him hanging around here anymore.”
I sounded like a Neanderthal, but it was the truth.

“Excuse me?”
Ella’s eyes went wide. “That is not your decision. This
isn’t your apartment. And it’s not like we’re
exclusive or anything.”

We weren’t? But
then I realized that I had just assumed she wasn’t seeing
anyone else, because I wasn’t. We hadn’t talked about
that at all.

“No,” I
said slowly, sensing this was a trap.

“I’m not
just going to wait around for you, Jake.”

Shit. There it was.

“I should have
called.” I dug my phone out of my pocket. “My phone died
and I forgot to charge it.”

“Because you were
drunk,” she said flatly.

“Yes,” I
admitted. “I was drunk. Because I had a really shitty day at
work.”

Sympathy flickered
across her eyes.

“I’m
sorry,” Ella told me.