Someday You'll Laugh (2 page)

She was studying B.O. guy.

I grinned and silently wished her luck. No one would be getting close to He Who Moves Chairs. I heard the screech of metal against the risers and almost fell over when the guy got up and walked toward me. I wiggled my butt back and straightened my shoulders, making sure my legs were draped attractively in front of me. I licked my lips and smiled, stopping just short of batting my lashes.

“Hey Sharon, I didn’t know you were in choir,” he said, bypassing me entirely.

I felt the blood rush to my face. I jerked my legs under my chair and wished I could follow them into oblivion.

What was
wrong
with me? I must be insane. Hardly a week ago my boyfriend had left, leaving a crack in my heart. Was that all the time it took nowadays to recover from cracked hearts?

I was disgusting.

“Hi, Paul. How’s it going? Glad to see you’re in choir, too,” Sharon said, with a light tremble in her voice.

Uh oh. I recognized that tremble.
She liked him
.

Paul’s eyes didn’t stray from her face. “It’s going great. Who’s the choir director?”

“Mrs. Claybourne or something.”

“Don’t know her. Well, I’ve gotta get back to the men’s section. See ya.” He paused and looked at me, his blue eyes and deep brown hair forging a mouth-watering combo. “Who are you?”

“Who wants to know?” Good grief, wasn’t I Miss Witty?

He laughed. “Paul wants to know.”

“I’m Brenda.”

This guy made me smile.

“She’s Greg Johnson’s girlfriend,” Sharon interjected and scooted her chair up until it was slightly in front of mine.

Paul glanced at Sharon, and then turned to me. “Whoever Greg is,” he said and walked back across the room.

Yeah, I was Greg Johnson’s girlfriend. Well, I
hoped
I was still his girlfriend.

Greg’s image floated before my eyes and to my humiliation, tears clouded my vision. I blinked and looked around hoping no one would notice. Sharon’s gaze had followed Paul. I swiped my eyes with my fingertips and saw the choir director come in from the side office. Her short curly bob sat on her head like a top hat, and when she moved, it bounced as if announcing a breeze. She grinned widely and I could see her parents hadn’t believed in paying for braces. I’d never seen such a jumbled tangle of teeth. Strangely, they didn’t detract from her appearance. She gazed around the room with a satisfied expression.

I couldn’t help but like her even before she spoke.

“Good Morning, class. I’m Mrs. Claybourne. Welcome back to my returning students. We’re going to have another great year together. New students, we’ll have run-throughs to see where your voices fall and where you’ll be placed. Everyone, grab a copy from each of the music stacks on the table.”

We scurried and got in line, each of us taking the music. Without looking, I could sense Paul behind me. My thoughts of Greg had already killed my flirting mood, and all I felt right then was the aching hole of missing him. The yearning twisted inside me like a piece of clinging ivy. Not even Paul brushing against my arm dispelled the gloom.

Chapter Two

After school, I climbed into my dad’s Jeep and drove home. Not owning my own car was another save-money-by-the-boatload measure I’d implemented. Dad was a soft-touch in lending me his rig, so it worked out.

Once home, I parked in the side driveway, yanked up on the hand brake, and climbed out. Mother trotted down the steps to greet me, and her eyes sparkled with anticipation. She held up an envelope and waved it like a flag at the Indy 500.

“Greg wrote!” she said. “He must’ve gotten there all right.”

My heart jumped at the sight of the letter, and I snatched it out of her hand. “Thanks.”

She patted my back. “He must have written and mailed it the second he got there. Such a nice young man.”

“Yeah, he is,” I agreed. I scooted off and took the stairs into the house two at a time. I kept going until I reached my room. I threw myself across the bed and ripped open the letter.

Bren,

Made it fine. Super long trip. Don almost fell asleep at the wheel. I can tell you
now because we’re
safely
here
and
it’s too late
for you to
worry. Got my dorm room
all set
up. Have already met some cool guys. Hey, about last weekend,
I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought about it,
but
I still think it’s right to give each other freedom. Doesn’t mean I plan to use it. You don’t
have to
either.

Love you,

Greg.

I read it three times.

Doesn’t mean I plan to use it
. I put my hand over my mouth and smiled into it. He wasn’t dumping me. It was going to be okay. I grabbed a pad of paper from my desk and started writing. I told him about my classes and about Sharon and about missing him.

I didn’t tell him about the guy I’d met named Paul.

No reason to.

****

My college routine fit like a comfortable pair of sweats. Of course I wasn’t adapting to dorm life or living away from home like other college freshmen. But I was helping my parents adjust to having a live-in college kid. I figured I no longer needed curfews or their eagle-eyes watching my every move.

My parent-training was met with patronizing smiles from both Dad and Mom but, for the most part, the eagle-eyeing stopped.

Classes were hard at LCC, but not more than I could handle. I did miss the extracurricular activities from high school, so I decided to take voice lessons. I’d always fancied the idea of being good enough to sing solos at weddings and banquets. I went to the Fine Arts Building to inquire. I knocked at Mrs. Claybourne’s office and poked my head through her half-open door. She was sitting at a desk buried in stacks of sheet music.

“May I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure, come on in. It’s Brenda, right?” Her crooked teeth flashed at me from between thick ruby lips.

I nodded and sat on her spare folding chair. “I’d like to take voice lessons. What do I need to do?”

She leaned her elbow on her desk and rested her chin in her hand. Then she nodded her curly mop, narrowed her eyes, laid some sheets of music on her lap, and reached forward to straighten a bust of Beethoven. “Sign up and pay for them, honey. That’s about it.”

“How much do they cost?”

She rummaged around on her desk and pulled out a flyer from under a pile of ancient-looking hymnals. She shook it and then blew on it as if chasing dust-bunnies.

“Here’s the info. I don’t teach voice. The teacher’s name is Mr. Tack — he’s excellent. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”

“Mr. Tack? Really? He was my high school choir teacher. That’s plain weird.”

“He retired from high school, so he’s snagging some extra work here. He’s a one and only, make no mistake.”

She got that right. Mr. Tack was a one and only — an ogre, really — but he was the best teacher I’d ever had. Being his student was like subjecting yourself to a trigger-happy firing squad.

“Are you still interested if he’s the teacher?” she asked.

I’d survived him before; I could do it again. “Yep, still interested.”

She rummaged further in her mess. “I sign up the students for him. He’s only here during the hours he gives lessons.” She looked at a spreadsheet, picked up a pencil and tapped her crooked teeth with the eraser.

“How about four o-clock today? No reason to wait, right?”

“Whoa, so soon? Well, okay. Thanks. Do I have to pay right now?” I hadn’t brought any extra money.

“No, honey. You can even bring the money tomorrow. But after this, be prepared to pay on the day.” She turned back to her mess, and I was dismissed.

I got up and hurried to English Composition. I adored the class, but then I adored any class where I got to write. Comp was my last class for the day, so I was finished by noon. I went home, ate, did homework, and returned to school at three forty-five, ready to face Mr. Tack.

Since I was a few minutes early, I waited on a red vinyl bench in the cramped lounge area outside the lesson studio. Through the walls, I heard someone hit what had to be a high C. The singer was good. So good in fact, I almost got up and skulked off. I’d never measure up to the person in there belting it out like Miss Broadway.

At five minutes till four, the music stopped and the door swung open.

It was Paul.

Paul?

“What are you doing here?” I jumped up from the bench like a guilty party on trial. “That wasn’t you singing.”

His brow furrowed and he smirked. “Hardly. My voice is considerably deeper. I’m the accompanist.”

“What do you mean?” I felt the edge of the bench press into the backs of my legs.

He tilted his head. “You know, the person who plays the piano for the person who sings.”

“I know what an accompanist is,” I snapped. “Do you accompany for all the lessons?” A strange foreboding spread through my stomach.

“For all of Mr. Tack’s students, I do. I make good money, too.” He strode by me to the water fountain in the corner of the lounge.

I watched him bend and take a drink. I watched him stretch back up. Then I watched him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

I watched him too much. But why did he have to have such a slender build and cute butt?

“Uh, this isn’t a good idea,” I said.

Paul walked over until he stood mere inches from me. “What isn’t a good idea? Me accompanying you? Why wouldn’t it be? I’m a great pianist, so you don’t have to worry.”

There was a definite sparkle in his gaze. It told me he knew full well what I meant — and it had nothing to do with whether he played well or not.

“I… I…”
Since when did I ever have trouble speaking?

Paul shook his head and studied me. “Well, Greg Whoever’s Girlfriend, I think you’re next.” He gestured toward the open door. The earlier singer was gone, and I hadn’t even noticed her leave.

I raised my chin, pushed my way past Paul, and entered the studio.

Mr. Tack was sitting stiff-legged at a chair next to the piano. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Brenda Haupt,” he greeted me. His icy white hair gleamed under the florescent lights. “Didn’t know you decided on Lower Columbia College.”

“Yep, I did. How are you, Mr. Tack?”

“Considering I got rid of all those high school scoundrels, I’m doing great.” He bellowed out a throaty laugh.

I smiled. He hadn’t changed a bit.

“Nah, I don’t mean it. I loved all those twerpy rapscallions. Glad to see you again.” He shifted his ample weight, and the folding chair squeaked beneath him. “I see you’ve met Paul.”

“Yes sir,” Paul said in a jovial tone as he slid onto the piano bench. “We’ve met. Brenda’s quite excited that I’m her accompanist.”

I whipped around and gave him a withering glare.

Mr. Tack chortled. “Glad to see you’re getting along. Now, Brenda, I already know your voice, so we’re going to start right in on
Ever the Love
.”

Paul began playing and I peered over him at the words on the music. Mr. Tack settled into his chair and closed his eyes, tapping out the beat on his leg. We ran through three more pop tunes and some vocal exercises before my hour was up.

“That will do,” Mr. Tack said. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Same time next week?”

“Same time,” I agreed.

I crammed the music into my shoulder bag and charged out of the room, not wanting any chance of conversation with Paul. I was annoyed up to my eyebrows with him. Imagine him bragging that I was happy he was my accompanist.

How aggravating could a person be? Not to mention vain.

Voice students were responsible to set up practice sessions with their accompanists. I decided to ask Paul the next day and get it over with, but I cringed when I approached him right after choir.

“We need to set up practice times.” I noticed the stiff irritation in my voice too late to disguise it.

Sharon was stacking music on the long folding table. When she heard me, her head jerked around so fast I thought it’d fly into the rafters.

Paul must have noted her reaction because a teasing smile played on his lips. “Yes, we do.”

“When are you free?”

“Well, since you’re Greg’s girlfriend, I’m not sure I am free.”

Man, this guy was irritating beyond belief.

Something brushed my arm. I jumped aside, swirled around, and nearly knocked into Sharon who had sidled up right next to me. Her drawn-together brows and tight lips were not a pretty sight. Piercing eyes darted between Paul and me. She pushed at me to step closer to Paul.

“What are you practicing for? Choir? Do I need to come?” Her voice was strained, too loud. Anyone could see what her attempt to be calm was costing her.

“Brenda’s taking voice lessons from Tack,” Paul said and bent to pick up his books.

Sharon looked at me with such hatred, I stepped back. “But that’s not possible,” she said.

“It’s already arranged, plus I’ve gone to one lesson.”

Her shoulders rose to her ears. “But Tack’s schedule is full.”

“I guess he had an opening. Why? Did you want to take lessons too?” I swallowed the snarky tone that rose to the surface.

Her lips puckered into a pout. “No. I just didn’t know you were taking them.”

“Why would you care whether I take voice lessons?”

But I knew full well why. Every movement of her body vibrated with worry. She thought I was going to take Paul away from her like I had taken Greg.

The air around us bristled with emotion and I wanted out. Paul had already walked off, and I couldn’t wait to do the same.

“See you later,” I said abruptly and left Sharon sputtering like a drowning victim.

****

Greg’s letters poured forth like water surging from a flooded river. Every day I’d dash home for lunch and Mother would greet me with a letter in hand like my personal mailwoman. She’d stand at the bottom of the stairs and hold out Greg’s latest note like a subway token. I’d grab it from her and dash upstairs to sprawl across my bed.