Page 5

E merson

“We’re sharing a bed,” I hiss into the phone as soon as Layla picks up.

“What?” Layla asks and it sounds like she’s out somewhere.

I look over to the bathroom door that Anthony disappeared through just a few minutes ago. He said that he was going to take a shower before he went out to some open mics. I had told him that I would come with him, but now I’m second thinking that.

“The hotel only has queen size beds left and Denver is expensive. Every other hotel is twice as much money.”

“Who said that the queen bed was okay?” Layla asks and I wonder why she thinks that’s the most important question to ask right now.

“He did,” I say, remembering how Anthony hadn’t seemed to think it would be a problem for us to sleep in the same bed.

Maybe he doesn’t think it will be a problem because he has no interest in sleeping with you, my mind whispers to me.

“Okay, then what’s the problem? Anthony is hot. I always thought that the two of you would be perfect together.”

“You did?” I ask, shock clear in my voice.

“Yeah. He’s smart and funny and you need someone smart and funny. Someone who will help you remember that there’s more to life than art and TV shows.”

“So what, you were hoping that we would just fall in love on our way to New York?”

“That was the plan, yeah.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or scream at that so I just remain silent.

“How’s the road trip going, anyway?” Layla asks, a slightly sarcastic edge to her tone and I can’t help but laugh.

“Good. We stayed in Las Vegas last night so that Anthony could do an open mic. Then we drove all day today. We just got to Denver.”

“How was Vegas? Did you two get married?” she jokes and I snort out a laugh.

“No. I watched him do stand-up and then we went and watched the Bellagio fountain show. He walked me back to the hotel after that and went out to check out some casinos or something.”

“Bummer.”

I roll my eyes at that.

“It was fun. Today was long. We drove for over twelve hours.”

“What are you doing tonight? Hopefully each other,” I hear her whisper under her breath and I laugh.

“He’s going to a few open mics and I told him that I would go with him. We already had dinner and I’m tired. Who knew driving all day could be so exhausting?”

“What did you think about his stand-up?” Layla asks and I can hear the Los Angeles traffic in the background.

“He’s really funny. He killed last night at the club. Was easily the funniest guy in there,” I realize that I’m gushing about him and cut myself off.

“You like him,” Layla sings and I wonder if she’s drunk.

“No, I don’t. All that I said was that he’s funny.”

“Uh huh.”

I can tell that Layla wants to say something else about Anthony and me, but someone calls her name in the distance and I take her distraction to tell her goodbye.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I promise, knowing ful well that I’m not off the hook. Just delaying the inevitable.

“Okay. Go do something that I would do!” she calls before she hangs up and I laugh, ending the call.

That might have sounded dirty but I’m not sure that Layla has ever even had sex before. Sure, she dates more than me, but a monk dates more than me. I never had time for dating and boys.

I’ve never found anyone who could distract me the way art could. I had to work all through high school and save so that I could buy my car and pay for my college tuition. Then I worked all through college to keep up with next years tuition,

Even in my senior year, I was working so that I could put money aside for after graduation. Every spare minute was spent on homework, work, or at galleries and museums in Chicago.

I kept telling myself that I would focus on dating after I finished school. I’d find a good job and get settled and then I would start dating but I’ve been in Los Angeles for a year now and all that I have to show for it is a now deactivated online dating profile.

The bathroom door opens and Anthony steps out, straightening his new clothes. He’s wearing a black t-shirt with some kind of design on the front and a pair of dark blue jeans.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks as he sits on the bed and tugs on a pair of black boots.

“Yeah, let me just grab my purse.”

We decide to walk down to the first comedy club.

“Maybe you should move here instead. It seems like it’s got a pretty big comedy scene,” I say as I spot the second comedy club that he wanted to do an open mic at across the street.

“It has gotten bigger but Los Angeles and New York will probably always be the top two. I’ve spent the last few years in Los Angeles and I think it’s time for a change. Hopefully New York will help my craft too.”

“How so?” I ask, curious about how stand-up comedy works.

“Crowds are different. Different states find different things funny.”

“So will you tailor your stand-up depending on states or regions then?” I ask as we head inside the club.

“Not necessarily tailor, but there will be some jokes that I might not necessarily do. That way I don’t piss off whole crowds and bomb.”

Anthony leads me over to a table and orders me a glass of wine from the waitress as we sit down.

“Okay, so you think the crowds in New York will help you get better as a comic.”

“Yeah, there’re comedians who only do stand-up in Los Angeles and it shows. They can’t do comedy anywhere else.”

Open mic starts and Anthony is one of the first to go up. He does a set similar to the one from last night but this time I watch the crowd, waiting to see how they react to him.

This open mic is only five minutes and it feels like it’s over way too soon. The crowd laughs, just like last night and I wonder if we’re still too close to the east coast or if he’s just that good of a comedian.

He walks off stage, that now familiar cocky swagger in his steps as he makes his way toward me. A few people stop him to tell him that he did a good job or to clap him on the back as he passes.

“Ready to go to the next one?” he asks as he picks up his glass of water and downs it in one gulp.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

He hits up three open mics that night and at every single one, I watch him walk on stage and own it. He comes alive up there, growing more confident as soon as he’s in his element.

I’m giddy and half drunk as we walk back to the hotel at the end of the night.

“That last guy was pretty funny though,” I say as we talk about a few of the other comics that we saw tonight.

“He wasn’t bad, but he’s not as good as I am.”

“Uhhh,” I say, teasing him and he gives me a playful glare.

“Say he’s not as good as me, Emerson,” Anthony says, trying to look serious but I can see the smile in his eyes.

“I mean,” I start as we walk into our hotel room.

Anthony reaches out, tickling my ribs and I giggle, darting away from him.

“He’s not as good as you! He’s not as good as you!” I say as he makes a move to tickle me again.

“I know,” he says confidently, “but it’s nice that you agree with me.”

I roll my eyes as I kick off my shoes and set my purse down on the dresser.

“I’m exhausted,” Anthony says as he sits down on the bed to untie his shoes.

“Me too. Are we going to leave bright and early again tomorrow? I wanted to make it to Chicago tomorrow and then we can be in New York late Wednesday.”

“Sounds like a plan. How far is it to Chicago?”

“About fifteen hours,” I admit with a wince.

It’s only been two days and I’m already sick of driving around.

“Damn. Alright, better get to bed then.”

I nod, grabbing my pajamas, toothbrush and toothpaste and heading into the bathroom to get changed. Anthony is changed by the time I come back out and we pass by each other as he heads into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

I slip under the covers, my earlier ease dissipating as I wonder what sleeping with Anthony will be like.

Oh god. What if I cuddle him or something? What if I talk in my sleep or snore?

Anthony comes out and hits the lights as I plug my phone in and pull the covers up more.

“Did you set an alarm?” he asks and I nod before I realize that he can’t see me.

“Yeah, another six a.m. morning.”

Anthony groans and my mind can’t help but think about him doing that in bed in a different context. My nipples pebble inside my thin cotton sleep shirt and I try to discreetly scoot away from him.

“‘Night, Emerson,” Anthony whispers in the dark and a shiver runs through me.

“Goodnight, Anthony.”

I close my eyes, begging for sleep to take me. Right before I fall asleep, a thought hits me.

Layla is right. I am into Anthony.