Chapter Thirty-Two -- I Used To Know You
Last night had been electric. Rusty couldn't sit still. He had gotten up before everyone else, aware that he would soon have to fend off a wave of questions from his besties, and went out for a run. The campus was still quiet at that hour, while a thin breeze, cutting a bit through his clothes, had just begun, an early morning announcement that the weather would soon change for the worse. He sat on a bench and took out his phone, hoping that the hour wasn't outrageous for the call he was dying to make. "Mrs. May," he whispered in a heartbeat after the short exchange of greetings, "I did it. I'll send you the video that's just started circulating online. It was taken by someone on their phone, but I think it's pretty good."
"You are moving fast. I like it," she commended him. "Give me a little. I will tell you what I think right away."
He waited, wavering between excitement and worry. The people listening to him last night had applauded him, but that wasn't enough. He needed to hear an educated opinion, and he was just lucky that Mrs. May didn't like sleeping in on Sundays. When the phone rang back, his thumb was already hovering over the screen.
"First of all, congratulations, Rusty, on your first outing as a singer," Mrs. May said brightly. "I am quite impressed with how well you held your own across the range. A lot of singers have trouble with this kind of control. But you sounded like yourself as you went low, as well as when you went high. However, there is still some work we need to do on really low notes. Also, there was a bit of a hesitation in the beginning. I suppose I can attribute it to first public appearance jitters. Wasn't that it?" she added in a pleasant voice.
Rusty felt all giddy inside. Of course, he had work to do on the lower notes, and he knew it. As for that hesitation, Mrs. May was right, and he wasn't about to contradict her because he didn't do stuff like that in front of an authority in the field like she was. There was no point in bragging or pretending it wasn't so. "Yeah. And you were correct to tell me to move more into those lower ranges. I mean, that's one way to keep myself from sounding like a cartoon character."
Mrs. May laughed. "Along with your voice, you must also cultivate your persona as a singer, Rusty. There's a certain dignity that comes with this profession. For now, I won't scold you too much. And I believe that before even being a singer, you are an entertainer. That is not something I'm willing to stifle in your development. You really know how to make a crowd fall in love with you, and that's no small thing."
"Thank you, Mrs. May," he said, while the patch of warmth in his chest spread until it filled him completely.
"Don't forget about our next session. I'm waiting with bated breath to teach you more, Mr. Rybalt," she said in a playful tone.
"I still have eight or seven sessions left. Afterward--" he started, wanting to find out what her usual rates were and expecting them to be quite high.
"I already let Francine know," Mrs. May interrupted him. "You don't have to worry about anything of the kind. However, she told me that she expects nothing but excellence at the end of our time together."
"Geez, man, talk about pressure," Rusty mumbled. "I should talk to her and tell her that I can handle my own stuff."
"I wouldn't dare if I were you," Mrs. May said, and she was only half-joking by the sound of her voice. "How about we both work hard and surprise her?"
"I don't think she's that easy to surprise. She's listened to the best, like live and all that," Rusty said, suddenly feeling little compared to the rest of the universe, or at least the part of it that mattered.
"All the more reason to put your all into it. I'll do my part," she assured him.
"Then I'm all in, too," he said solemnly. Francine was a tough cookie, but, man, that woman could almost make him want to cry. There was so much trust in how she behaved toward him that he had no idea what to make of it. If only the stuff could be bottled and stashed away for later use; he'd make it last a lifetime.
"That's good to know, Rusty. Or do you prefer Rybalt more?" she joked.
"Not when you're teaching me. I can be myself then." He stopped in time. These women were making him spill more than he intended to. "Bye, Mrs. May. Thank you for everything."
"Oh, I intend to put you through hell to get your voice in top shape. You might not feel so thankful after that. Bye, Rusty. I can barely wait."
He felt full and content as he put the phone back into his pocket. Life finally made sense.
***
There were so many pieces he wanted to practice, he thought, as he began making a selection on his phone, while on his way to eat breakfast. He felt too energetic to get back to the house, and all his friends were still sleeping. Plus, this way, he could also enjoy brunch with them later.
He grunted when he was suddenly attacked from behind just as he got close to the fast food place. Someone crashed into him and put their hands over his eyes. "So, Rybalt," a cavernous voice began, "any last wishes before breakfast?"
For a moment, he froze, but then he realized that there was only one person in the whole world who could see through his charade so easily. He thrust one arm quickly behind him and caught his attacker. Then, turning quickly on his heels he faced his opponent. August burst into laughter, most probably because of the expression on his face.
"How could you tell?" he asked directly.
She tilted her head to one side, giving him that legendary look of hers, the one that made you feel like there was no one else in the entire world. Today, it only filled him with fondness, but there had been a time when it used to do a lot more to him than just that. "I used to know you, remember?"
Yeah, there was no doubt about that. "Are you reading Xpress all the time now? Don't you have any hobbies?" he teased her.
August's smile grew larger. She wrapped one arm around his. "How about I buy you breakfast? We have tons to catch up on, right?"
They did. That was another thing he couldn't deny. "Nah. I'm going to buy you breakfast," he said. "Finally, I have some pocket money," he joked.
"Sure, I won't argue. How are things with your dad?"
He shrugged. "He's himself. It's not like I have any hope he's going to change now. Although, he seems like a better dad to my brother and sister than he's been to me."
"And how does that make you feel?" she asked as they entered the fast-food restaurant.
"Are you majoring in psychology or something? Stop picking my brain," he complained, but that was the way they talked, provoking each other, giving each other stuff to think about.
"Actually, I'm more into trade these days," she said.
They sat across from each other at one of the tables. To gain some time, Rusty pretended to be busy with the menu, although that place barely had a handful of options to choose from, and he usually picked the same thing. He wanted to ask her so many questions, and yet, his tongue seemed tied. Maybe he was afraid of opening some Pandora's box and then shutting it before hope managed to get out. Maybe he needed to stop picking apart his own brain.
That summer had seemed magical at the time, outside the boundaries of time in a way. It had only lasted while it lasted, and yet, that mixed bag he had carried along all this time hadn't grown old and moldy enough to stash away for good. August had known he could sing. Besides the people at his old school before moving, no one else had known at the time. He had tried showing off his skills to his dad, just to prove that he had something special, and he had been promptly shut down. In front of August, he had done it at first just to show off, too. Only she hadn't shut him down; on the contrary, she'd told him that one day he'd become a star. She had meant it. She meant everything she said, which was why, after that summer, when she told him that she would never leave her husband, he'd gotten so mad that he never returned her calls.
Only it looked like something had changed. He went to place their order and waited for it, his back turned to where she was sitting, trying to make sense of the nest of thoughts inside his head. Had she woken up and realized that it was no way to live, hoping that scumbag would finally see the light and change his ways? They had that much in common, probably. They both hoped and hoped and believed in a change that was bound to never come.
She took a sip from her soda and smacked her lips in delight, the same way she'd used to while they were gobbling down junk food, but only after arranging it prettily on plastic plates just to make each meal feel festive somehow.
"So," he asked, pretending to be busy with his burger, "how's it hanging, August?"
"It's not like you to beat around the bush. Go ahead, ask what you want to know."
"Fine," he said and leaned back in his chair, eyeing her carefully. "Did you leave him?"
August frowned slightly and took another long sip from her drink. "You can say that."
"What is that supposed to mean?" He couldn't believe that, after all these years, there were still traces of pain inside him. It was only this much he could do not to yell at her.
"We're separated," August explained. "Not yet divorced."
"So, did you finally have enough of it?" he asked, hating how aggressive, how fucking entitled he sounded as if he still had the right to ask her anything. Not that he'd ever had that; August had made that perfectly clear.
August sighed and her eyes drifted out the window. "Sometimes, feelings turn bad, I guess. Like pudding."
"Joke more," he said under his breath. Fuck, this wasn't him, and yet, he couldn't help himself. He wanted to blame her, but he had learned it long ago that each and every person was responsible for what they felt.
She looked at him and smiled. There was something bittersweet in that smile, making her look older than her twenty-five. "That's something no one can take away from me. When I stop joking, feel free to turn me over to the big guy," she said, making a vague gesture toward the ceiling. "That's when I'll know it's over for good."
Rusty shook his head. His anger moved out of him, draining some of the energy of that morning away, too. But it didn't feel entirely bad. Just different. "I'm glad for you," he said, and it was the first completely honest thing he had said since meeting her this morning.
She offered him a warm smile. "So," she said, "what's the deal with this Rybalt persona?"
Rusty threw a quick look around and made a gesture for her to keep it down. "Just some secret project of mine."
