Page 27 of The Plus-One Deal
“Can you even sing?”
I shrugged. “Can you?”
“Guess we’ll find out.” She waved to the bartender, but he didn’t see her. I breathed in again, trying to catch that perfume. It wasn’t the same one she’d worn in college, but it was similar. Notes of vanilla. I remembered thinking back then, she’d smelled like dessert. We’d danced in that bar, though no one was dancing. There wasn’t even a dance floor, just a space by the jukebox. I’d spun Claire around to some song on my earbuds, one in my left ear, one in her right. It had felt like goodbye, because soon, she was leaving. Heading on a world tour to round up vendors.
“You’ll be big,” I’d told her.
She’d smiled. “You’ll be bigger.”
“And if you ever need me…”
“Plus-ones. I’ve got it.”
“I never thought you’d call me,” I said, in the present. Claire turned back.
“What?”
“After graduation. I thought we’d end up like kids who move states. They swear they’ll write to their friends, and maybe they do a while, but then they make new friends and they forget. I thought that’d be us once we left college.”
Claire frowned. “That’s a sad thought.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it was. But, youdidcall me.”
Claire started to say something, but the bartender bustled up.
“Can I take your order?”
Claire got white wine. I got a martini. We found the table Ken had picked, close to the stage.
“Your gin fizz,” I said, and handed Ken his drink. Claire set Verity’s down just as she made it back.
“I got us in next.” She sipped her drink. “Mm. I’m up, then Ken, and then it’s you two.”
Claire blinked. “What, together?”
“Yeah, a duet. It seemed cruel to split you up even for a moment.” She winked across the table. “I saw how you were on those tennis courts. That’s true love right there. As true as it comes.”
Claire reached for her wine, but she didn’t sip it. She drained a good half of it and set it back on the table. The emcee called on Verity, and she went skipping up. I felt for Claire’s hand, but I couldn’t find it.
“It’ll be fine,” I said. “No one expects us to be Sonny and Cher.”
Claire didn’t say anything, just narrowed her eyes. I watched her tension mount as Verity sang ‘My Heart Will Go On.’ She had avoice on her, deep, rich, and silky, and the whole bar went quiet as she hit her stride. Claire’s face was frozen in a smile dipped in panic. Ken was swaying, oblivious, lost in the music. A stab of envy lanced through me at his expression — pure comfort, enjoyment, affection. Love.
“We can’t do that,” hissed Claire.
“Most people can’t. No one will mind.”
She shook her head sharply, angry. Frustrated. “She can’t remember us bombing or going half-ass. Everything counts. Why did I?—”
“Isn’t she great?” Ken leaned back, smiling. “She paints as well, and she’s a hell of a dancer. An artist in every way, is Verity.”
Claire gulped the rest of her wine and stood up. “I need another.”
“You won’t have time,” said Ken. “I’m up, then you.”
She sat back down again and stared at her glass. Her eyes had gone shellshocked, all wide and glazed. Verity came back to us all giggly and smiling, borne off the stage on a tide of applause. I leaned on my elbow to whisper to Claire.
“Don’t worry. Ken will suck, and he’ll make us look brilliant.”